


The Dawn Will Come

by AeantizLKamenwati



Series: Banal'han [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Development, Essentially just backstories of minor characters from my other story, Fluff, Gen, I'm terrible to my characters, Other Stories, Random & Short, Tales, Violence, backstories, lots of death, nothing - Freeform, plenty of angst, smut MAYBE
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3673926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeantizLKamenwati/pseuds/AeantizLKamenwati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Banal has lived a long time, and made lots of enemies. But he's also made a few friends along the way. </p><p>(Formerly Chapters 2, 3, and 4 of Secrets of the Inquisition and NOT in any specific order</p><p>Chapter 1: Sulahn'mi (complete)<br/>Chapter 2: Samahln'nan (complete)<br/>Chapter 3: Nehnlin (in progress)<br/>Chapter 4: The Lotusmaker (in progress)<br/>Chapter 5: Tahon/An'nas (in progress)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steel Your Heart (Sulahn'mi)

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE read Nothing before you read this. All these characters are in that story and their backstories are just collected here. 
> 
> If you want a specific character that I haven't done or isn't on the list, feel free to request them. I will most likely do them ^.^

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even a God of Death and Darkness can be a savior to someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you haven't read chapter 14 of Nothing yet, you might be a little confused. You'll be totally confused if you haven't read Nothing at all so I'd suggest you reading that before this ;)
> 
> Sulahn'mi's house was inspired by [ This Picture ](http://static.planetminecraft.com/files/resource_media/screenshot/1204/Kyonin_elf_town_1257234-1_1299443.jpg)
> 
> Warning: suicide (and a lot of angst...so much that I cried writing it...)

Right foot forward, slide to the right, left foot back, slide to the left. Right foot forward, slide to the right, left foot back, slide to the left. Spin out, spin in. Right foot forward… 

Sulahn’mi’s mind focused entirely on what her feet were doing as the music played. She wouldn’t even be able to tell you who she was dancing with. Just another nameless boy, just another dateless party. 

She felt her tics trying to show themselves. But she focused harder on her feet, pushing and kicking those feelings away. Just right foot forward, slide to the right. If she was to find a proper husband, she could not let them out. She had to be a pretty face, a pretty body that could sit still for portraits and be admired. 

When the song finally ended and they bowed to their partners, Sulahn’mi nearly flew from the ballroom. She picked up her many fluttering skirts and ran through her manor, avoiding populated areas till she found a closet. She shut herself in there just as tiny chirps sputtered out of her lips, her facial muscles spasming. 

_Get it under control, Sula’mi…_ But the more she told herself that the worse the chirps and tics became. Her heart was pounding, afraid someone would hear her. She couldn’t breathe, corset too tight suddenly. Even the dainty ruffled lace collar of her dress seemed too restrictive. 

_Make it stop…_ slowly the tics dissipated and her noises quieted, leaving her alone in the darkness of the closet. She thought she should just stay in there. So many people, they made her anxious. What if she didn’t remember that lord’s name or if this person was feuding with that person? What if she stepped on some lord’s daughter-in-law-thrice-removed’s dress? 

The what if’s were enough to make her head spin. But then she thought of her parents’ disappointment. She was supposed to be perfect, their darling little girl they’d marry to another noble family’s son and have beautiful grandchildren for them. Instead, they got a nervous wreck of a daughter who had some disease of the mind, no magic to speak of, and wasn’t exactly the most elegant. 

Tears started to blur her vision. She was broken, some defect the Creators were too cruel to destroy. Crafted too short, too stout, too curly of hair, too shapeless of ears… 

Thoughts of running away from this perfect life that she couldn’t fit into came once more into her mind. 

Then the door handle jiggled. Sulahn’mi’s hands flew to cover her mouth, hoping to hold back any noise she was making. _Don’t be Mamae, don’t be Mamae…_

“Sula?” her elder brother’s voice called through the door. Suddenly light flooded into the dark room, making her blink. “There you are…” He smiled, white teeth shining against his dark skin. Slowly it faded as he saw the tears on her cheeks. He looked at the floor behind him before sitting down in his formal wear. “What are you crying for?” 

She made inarticulate noises as she tried not to burst out sobbing loudly (she was often chastised for crying too loudly). Theron gathered her in his arms like he did when she was much smaller. 

“Hey, hey, what’s this about hmm? It’s not that bad of a party.” He joked as she made little chirps again. “Calm down, talk…” 

“Mamae said if I don’t…do everything perfectly tonight, I may as well marry myself to a farmer…” she sobbed, trying not to mess up her tightly wound curls or her brother’s suit. Theron chuckled. 

“Sula, you are too young to be thinking of marriage.” He laughed. She raised her head to look at him with the look of a beaten halla faun. He was the perfect child, high cheekbones, tall stature, strong magic, dazzling personality. This party was in celebration of him being placed as her father’s lieutenant after he finished his training. 

“But Mamae said—“ 

“Mamae says a lot things. Remember when she told you Fen’Harel would snatch misbehaving children to be his slaves?” Theron gave a dorky grin that made her laugh. “Besides you haven’t almost caused a feud to break out between two houses, I think you are doing fine.” 

Sulahn’mi cast her eyes downward. The other girls could cause feuds to break out between two houses… 

Her brother grabbed her face and turned it towards him. “Mamae has created a monster,” he muttered, “Come on my little perfectionist, you skipped out on the most important dance.” 

Her heart jumped into her throat. Who didn’t she dance with yet? Lord Caeriv? Lady Shera’s sons? She ran down the list of names she had memorized, trying to find one she missed… When she couldn’t find one she looked at Theron with wide eyes. Was there someone she didn’t know? 

“What dance?” She asked with such panic Theron had to laugh. 

“Why the dance with the best brother in Arlathan of course.” 

***** 

“Sit still, Sula’mi.” Her mother barked as the portrait painter had to once more pause as her neck twitched. Sulahn’mi frantically fanned herself to try and get air to her face. 

The picture had to be perfect, she’d only be this pretty…well she was an elvhen…she wouldn’t grow old until her what? Third millennia? 

“Calm down, Mamae, it’s not like Sula’mi is doing it on purpose.” Theron rolled his eyes from his spot. “And it’s not like we don’t have centuries to get this portrait painted.” 

“Hush, Theron.” Their mother snapped, “This portrait must be—“ 

“Absolutely perfect, we know.” 

Sulahn’mi’s muscles calmed down, but the dress she was in was too tight; she swore it was cutting of circulation to her head. Her chest fluttered as she tried to breathe. Her mother’s hands worked to place her perfectly again before returning to her seat. Her mother could pull of elegant with strong and prominent features, golden glare of a queen, and the grace of a predator. Next to her, Sulahn’mi feared she looked like a shabby house cat. 

Her father barely spoke from his spot behind his wife, a perfect of what an Arcane Warrior was supposed to be: strong, stoic, unwavering. 

“…you only care that it out does the Erenmor’s.” Theron griped, keeping his pose perfect as the painter looked at him with the glare of concentration. 

“Enough, Theron.” Their father growled, never once looking at his children. 

_Just another painting…_ he thought. 

Theron waited for the painter to return to behind the easel before he leaned down to whisper in Sulahn’mi’s ear. 

“Wanna come with me to the barracks after this is done, lethallan?” She wasn’t allowed to leave the manor grounds, let alone go to the barracks where their guards slept and their soldiers trained. She wasn’t even allowed to go into the stables. It was far too dirty. The dirtiest place she ever went to was the garden, but then the pathway was always kept spotless. 

But she was curious as to what her brother did there. And it meant skipping out on her poetry lessons. Fearing she would start making the hiccup sounds she felt rising in the back of her throat, she nodded once. 

***** 

The barracks were…well they just were. Sulahn’mi wasn’t sure she had any word in her vocabulary to describe them. It wasn’t so much different from her home, though less grandeur and glamour. The ceiling was the same delicate twists that mimicked tree canopies with crystals intertwining. It had the same white marble flooring and walls, the same crystalline columns. The windows all had the same designs but with no colored panes. 

It was located below her manor, tucked high into the mountains, with its waterfalls crashing over the walkways. Magic sung in the ceiling to keep the stone from cracking or wearing away just as it was in the ground to keep the buildings afloat. 

It was just like her home. But with less paintings of ancestors who had passed into Uthenera, less gilding and jewels. It was simplistic but not made any less beautiful because of it. 

“So what do you think?” Theron bumped his shoulder with hers as she stared halla-eyed at everything. Guards who passed them bowed, soldiers saluted though gave an odd look when they saw Sulahn’mi. 

“It’s…like a less superficial version of our house…” She breathed without thinking. Her brain caught up to her mouth. Her hands flew to cover her mouth as her brother laughed. 

“No Mamae around either. Which is a blessing.” Theron chuckled. “Come on, let me show you the sparring grounds.” 

They walked through countless arches, some with see-through floors showing the ethereal waters below them along with the colorful fish. Statues of their god, Elgar’nan, flanked many archways and passages. But soon they were in the courtyard, which was no more than an island with many bridges to it. 

There were training dummies abound, practice weapons sat in racks that were crafted more like decorations. Crystals wove through the trees, illuminating the yard and the mist. Figures stood all around in differing degrees of armor. Some wore little more than the under-armor, others wore their full battle armor. Others wore dress armor. 

Ethereal blades clashed loudly in the serenity, the Beyond singing as it was brought through without a thought. It was a graceful dance she was watching, one she couldn’t replicate. Which brought a pain to her chest. In her world, she was mundane, some genetic gone wrong. The first mundane born to the Enladrin House in over five hundred years. 

Theron could practically feel the happiness being sucked out of his little sister. Her gold eyes flickered like they were dying flames. He scratched the back of his head, unsure what to do. Their mother’s idea of perfection seemed to have rubbed off on Sulahn’mi, which was something she could not obtain. She was fourteen, she was supposed to be happy, dancing to wild fantasies and gossiping…or something. Theron did know she wasn’t supposed to be this bundle of nerves that grew more and more frayed. That didn’t help her one bit. 

“Lord Theron, there you are. I was worried you’d miss our sparring match…again.” Came a new voice. Theron laughed as Sulahn’mi instinctively hid her face. 

“Of course, Arvaan, how could I possibly miss beating you?” Theron joked as the man came closer. He took off his helmet to reveal light blond hair soaked with sweat. Arvaan snorted loudly. 

“As though you could ever beat me, lethallin.” The blond seemed to finally take note of the practically cowering Sulahn’mi. Arvaan blinked. “And who might this be? Tell me it isn’t another one of your mother’s ploys to get you a wife.” 

Theron chuckled. “No this is my sister, Sulahn’mi. Sulahn’mi, this is Arvaan Ishtirel.” 

Arvaan’s brown eyes went wide before he quickly bowed. Most did not know the Enladrin’s had a daughter, let alone see her. Well the guards might… With a little coaxing, Theron got her to face the soldier and curtsey. 

“Andran’atishan, Arvaan.” She mumbled quietly as she straightened. She kept her eyes averted, looking instead at the designs in the floor. Her jaw quivered but otherwise it was like a talking statue. 

“Andran’atishan, Lady Sulahn’mi. Ir abelas for not recognizing you sooner.” Arvaan kept his bow. 

“Truthfully I think Sula would prefer if no one recognized her.” Theron joked, making his friend rise a bit to look at him oddly. “Shhhh, I snuck her out of the house before Mamae could find that damnable poetry book.” 

Arvaan straightened to laugh. “The one with the really bad limericks? Or the one with the ballads?” 

“Limericks and sonnets.” Sulahn’mi answered absently. “I stutter too much with the ballads…” 

Theron rolled his eyes; his mother would ruin the both of them. But Arvaan chuckled sweetly, “At least they’d be more entertaining. Honestly, I’d fall asleep.” 

“And that’s why you are a soldier, Arvaan.” Theron ducked a hit meant for him with a laugh. “I’ll trade you.” 

Arvaan snorted with an eye roll, “And have to deal with your mother’s ungodly expectations? Tel’serannas.” Arvaan noted little Sula chuckling though she hid it with her hand. “So what brings you two here? Here to watch we manly men kick each other’s butts? Or just here to appreciate the _view_?” He laughed as red brightened her cheeks, little chirps coming from her mouth. 

Theron mouthed the words ‘Good one’ to his friend as Sulahn’mi tried hard to settle down her nervous bout of tics. “Nonsense you know I only have eyes for you, lethallin.” Theron rolled his eyes. “Though Sula does need to find a good husband.” 

“Theron!” She smacked his arm, while a blush ate at her face. 

“Hey! It’s not like we are here to go boy shopping…” Theron chuckled, mock rubbing his shoulder. 

Arvaan snickered, “Well if you were, Sula,” He smiled at her sweetly, “the barracks is an excellent place to do so. I mean just look at the selection.” He made a sweeping motion towards the grounds. 

“Stop…please…” She whined. Both the men laughed at her beet-red face. She glared at them. She noticed how her brother stood closer to this Arvaan than his other friends. But despite their obviously adorable couple status, she still didn’t lessen her glare. 

“My lord…” Came a new voice. “My…lady?” The woman approached them garbed in full guard armor. Sulahn’mi immediately recognized Captain Reveea and winced. “What are you doing here?” 

Theron winced as well, looking to the sides. His mother was going to kill him… “Uh, well, you know.” Arvaan stealthily stepped back from Theron before Reveea could note anything. “I was about to start…practicing with Arvaan and Sula wanted to watch.” 

The stern older woman furrowed her brow at the two men. Suddenly they were both knee high again trying to not get caught for putting a frog in some lady’s skirt… Her weathered skin was the only sign of aging, and even then she barely looked her age. 

“The barracks are no place for a young lady. Come, my lady, I shall escort you back to the manor.” Sulahn’mi looked down at her feet as the woman gently turned her and began guiding her back. 

“Now hold on, Reveea.” Theron stopped her. Arvaan began praying he didn’t get hit in the face… “This is just as much a part of the grounds as the manor or gardens. She can be here if she wants.” At the woman’s disapproving glare, Theron continued, “What’s the harm—“ 

“She is a young lady, it is not her place to worry about fighting nor should she want to pick up a blade. Your mother wishes to keep her from such violence.” 

_“What my mother wishes is to keep her hidden”_ was what he wanted to say. But he clinched his jaw tightly against those words. Arvaan felt magic beginning to bristle over Theron’s skin. He couldn’t quite grasp why this fight was so important for Theron to win. 

“What is the harm in letting her learn how to defend herself?” Arvaan interjected. “She can’t always rely on her guards.” 

The captain’s icy glare was something to behold, Arvaan noted with a cringe. “Are you suggesting my people are lax in their duties, soldier?” She spat the last word. Arvaan ran his tongue over his teeth. He knew in most everyone’s eyes he was a disgrace, a mercenary who had the fortune of the Enladrin’s hiring his band. But his hide was thick. So what if he fought for money? It lead him here didn’t it? 

“No of course not, Captain Reveea.” He started with a patronizing smile. “But from my experience, sometimes those closest to people in power are the best suited to strike.” 

“How dare you suggest—“ 

“I suggest nothing, Captain. I merely think it would be beneficial for Lady Sulahn’mi to learn to defend herself, if only to ensure none take advantage of her.” Arvaan bowed almost mockingly towards the Captain. 

The woman fumed, magic fluttering about her before being controlled once more. “Be that as it may, my orders were to find Lady Sulahn and bring her back.” She turned her blue eyes to Theron. “A good soldier follows orders without deviation.” 

And then she lead Sulahn’mi away, her words hanging in the air. Both the men looked at each other, Theron barely controlled anger and Arvaan with concern. Both understood the venomous bite her words hid. 

But neither would give up. 

***** 

“Perhaps you could talk to your father…” Arvaan suggested quietly as Theron sat on the railing. They were hidden away in the garden underneath the gazebo. They often met here in the dead of night. But this wasn’t like the other times of stolen touches. Tonight Theron was moody, mind swirling with everything wrong both in his world and in the whole world. 

Theron snorted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He won’t do anything. In his mind he only has a son.” Arvaan winced. That sounded too much like his own family…but with the genders swapped. The soldier sat beside his lord, hands barely touching. Theron was far off again, and as much as it hurt him to watch that was all he could do until he came back. 

“Do you honestly think your sister would fight? She seems far too meek.” 

Theron sighed. “She might if given the chance. She needs to know she’s not powerless or broken or whatever it is she thinks.” 

_She’s not the only one…_ Arvaan thought as he watched the moon’s reflection dance over the surface. “And what makes you think she thinks so?” 

“I see it. When she was watching everyone in the courtyard, it was like a light flickered out of her. Maybe she thinks because she’s not a mage she can’t amount to anything…or maybe it’s because of her disability…I don’t know.” Theron ran a hand through his fiery tresses. 

Arvaan blinked trying to remember the girl he met. Had she a disability? Then he remembered the odd little chirps she made. “Disability? The little chirps?” 

Theron finally looked at him with a sad smile. “Yeah; they’re worse when she’s upset or nervous…which is all the damn time thanks to Mamae.” 

“Well then convince your mother to let her. Even if it is just fencing or archery.” 

Theron laughed bitterly. “You don’t know my mother, vhenan.” 

***** 

A year came and went. Feuds had spilled over into battlefields only to be resolved after much death. Theron became a bloodied veteran, and Sulahn’mi became a woman of small stature. She was still the same but with more shapely curves. She learned to keep a fan with her at all time, to hide the tics. But most importantly she began to fight. 

Just in small ways. She would protest reading limericks, argue about the floral arrangements, debate how she was dressed and so forth. It was a small victory for Theron, when he came home to find his sister contending how her mother styled her hair, he started laughing. It was a start at least. 

Suddenly Sulahn’mi wasn’t a little shadow of their mother. She was their mother right down to the fiery personality, the perfectionist-ness and stubbornness. Still during parties she would hide or keep to the far corners to avoid being spotted and having company of any kind seemed unlikely for her. But baby steps. 

When her brother returned, he was different. A bit more withdrawn, his smiles fewer, and his laughs softer. But Sulahn’mi felt tension run out of her when she got to hug him again. Him and Arvaan. 

She never asked what had happened, instead she told them of things they missed back home. How she had accidently torn her ball gown clear up her leg right before a ball and how she had to act that that was part of the design. Or how she snuck out to feed the horses and got caught by one of the guards who both men could tell she was smitten with. 

It was nice to hear of mundane things after a year of death reports. It was nicer still to have Sulahn’mi a regular sight in the barracks. Though not many soldiers knew who she was, they all smiled when she came with breads or candies. They were home and that was all that mattered. 

***** 

“Oh come on, Sula. What’s the harm in trying?” Theron prodded. He was panting, covered in sweat and dirt as he sat down on the bench. Arvaan handed him a towel with a smug grin; the Arcane Warrior failed miserably at regular practice drills. “And you stop looking so smug.” He growled as he took the towel. 

“How could I not look smug? You are such a terrible loser.” Arvaan laughed. Theron snapped his towel at the soldier before wiping his brow. 

“Mamae doesn’t want me picking up any weapon.” Sulahn’mi muttered trying not to giggle at her brother. “I’m still in shock that she allows me to cut my own meat.” 

Theron rolled his eyes. “Hang what mother wants. Why can’t a _lady_ pick up a sword when a _lord_ can? Frankly I’d rather have a woman who could defend herself and the manor were I away.” 

“Switching teams, lethallin?” Arvaan mocked with a raised eyebrow. Theron snorted. 

“If you keep this up, I just might.” 

Arvaan pretended to be offended. “My lord, are you suggesting that I let you win from now on?” Sulahn’mi giggled as Theron glared. “Would that soothe your ego?” 

“Keep talking, you are drastically decreasing your chances of another _sword fight_ , vhenan.” A blush crept over the soldier’s face, though Sulahn’mi couldn’t understand why. She did look around to ensure no one else heard her brother though. 

Arvaan internally winced at being openly called that. But after coming home, it seemed Theron cared less about being caught. Arvaan wasn’t sure if that was good or bad… When the soldier did not offer rebuttal, Theron turned to his sister only to find that damn fan shielding her. He frowned before snatching it. “Elgar’nan enaste, Sula. No one’s here that you have to impress. Now come on, at least try that’s all I ask.” 

He stood up and offered her his hand. She fidgeted with the lace on her sleeve. “I’m in a dress, Theron…” She was a bit curious; she had watched the soldiers train for hours. She nearly memorized the steps like it was some form of dance. To her, it was a dance, the clashing of blades a song. She loved to watch Reveea and some of the older veterans spar for their dance was the most beautiful. 

“And you have what? Thirty more? Plus a seamstress who heeds your every beck and call.” Theron noted with a huff. Sulahn’mi let her tics quiet down before standing up. “Excellent, Arvaan find her a sword.” 

Arvaan smiled, “I don’t think she could lift a sword. She looks like she could barely lift a quill.” 

Sulahn’mi looked down at her arms with a frown. Did she look that weak? Well dressed in as much lace and silk anyone would appear weak she supposed. Speaking of her dress…she prayed she wouldn’t get dirt on it, or stain it. Perhaps she had better go change into…wait she didn’t have anything that wasn’t silk, satin, lace, or something similar. 

Panic began to run through her mind as she thought of any tiny stain as her brother lead her to a practice dummy. Some of the soldiers stopped to look at her, little snickers coming from them as Arvaan handed her a shortsword. 

It was heavy and foreign in her hands. Did she hold it with two hands or one? Right over left or the other way around? How did you hold it? Many questions surfaced as she just stared at it covered in padding. 

She gave an uncertain look towards her brother. “I don’t think I can—“ 

“Nonsense.” Theron cut her off. “The only thing preventing you from doing something is yourself. Now spread your legs like this.” He dropped into a fighting stance. “Come on.” 

“I feel silly…everyone’s staring.” She muttered. She could feel it build, their stares pushing hard for her to erupt into a fit of coughs or yips or stutters… 

Arvaan gently grabbed her hands and rearranged the sword properly, his foot sliding hers into the correct position. “They are just admiring the view.” 

She looked at him confused. “The view?” Great now she had to worry about what the view was…View of her looking ridiculous holding a sword? Was there a spot on her dress? Perhaps she had some dirt on her face… 

But Arvaan laughed and took on an air of mock dignity. “Why the view of me of course.” 

Theron snorted with an eye roll. “Please, vhenan, they are obviously looking at me.” 

Somehow their joking silenced her mind and made her laugh. Compared to those two, she didn’t seem as silly. She looked at her brother’s stance and fixed her own, still adjusting to the weight in her hand. Her arm quivered as it strained. Mythal’enaste was she really that weak? 

“Now short swords don’t have good range, but they are a lot quicker and take less energy to wield…” 

***** 

Sulahn’mi found something she loved: fighting. Which one might expect from her name, singing blade. Still for once in her life she felt graceful, powerful. She was still very much a beginner, but she had little doubt she could perfect herself. Whenever she could, she would practice. 

After months of training, her body gained muscle, giving her a more taut form. While her mother knew it made her more pleasing, the way she got it angered her. Her daughter fighting like a common thug? Next thing you know she’ll join that damnable mercenary group and run off to marry a commoner. 

But despite increasing arguments between her, Theron and their mother, Sulahn’mi trained every day. Reveea even let her have some old practice armor and occasionally would correct the “boys” as they taught her. “Women are not like men,” she would reprimand. The stern old woman saw herself in the young girl. Still she often reminded Sulahn’mi that she was stepping down, not stepping up in the world. 

Which was fine. Sulahn’mi was not cut out for the life of a noble. Too much stress, too not doing anything. She wasn’t made to sit still for a thousand portraits, to recite twenty ballads without a single stutter. She wasn’t crafted to be a perfect doll to decorate some lord’s chambers and warm his bed. 

She was meant for something else. But it took death for her to find that something. 

***** 

_Where could he be?_ She thought as she looked through the gardens. Yet another argument with their parents lead Theron into storming out. She had waited a bit for him to cool down before she followed. Usually he came to the gardens, but he wasn’t there. 

_Perhaps he went to the stables…he always did love his hart…_

The sky above was cloudy, the air smelling of rain. A slight breeze whistled through the crystal spires that gave the only light as she wound her way back to the stables. They were tucked away, down from the manor near the barracks with large fields to hold all the cavalry. It was a place that constantly smelt of halla and grass. 

Her footsteps were light as the walkway lit up at her touch. The waterfalls roared around her as the shadowy building came into view. Thunder rolled off in the distance as the storm began somewhere. 

Sulahn’mi’s stomach twisted. There was a bleating sound coming from the stables. Something was disturbing the hart. Perhaps it was the storm. Poor thing hated thunder, not that she blamed him. But that didn’t make her stomach settle. 

She slowed her steps as she reached the door. She peeked through the crack in the doors. Inside was completely black even to her elvhen eyes. Fear crept up the back of her neck as she pushed the barn door open some more. 

“Theron?” she called to the darkness. She could hear the hart snorting and pacing, wood creaking. But there was little else. She cursed herself for not bringing a torch…or being a mage… “Brother?” she took a step inside just a lightning lit up the room. 

What followed was not thunder. It wasn’t rain. It was a scream that woke the dead. 

Sulahn’mi’s screams could be heard over the waterfalls, they hung in the air even after she lost her voice. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her knees crumbled. But she couldn’t look away from the swinging body. 

_No, no he can’t be gone. He just can’t._

***** 

A few days after Theron’s funeral, a priest of Falon’Din visited them personally. It was his job to ensure the family knew their son would be taken care of in the Beyond. Just as it was his duty to help soothe the wounds caused by his passing; he was advised the young lady was the one who found him and had withdrawn almost entirely to herself. 

He assured her parents that it was normal. But when they finally got her out of her room, even the priest was stunned to see such a despondent child. Her eyes saw but did not truly see, she was there but not truly. Her hair was a mess of curls, there were shadows upon shadows under her eyes. Even her tics seemed dejected. 

“…I assure you Lady Enladrin, your son will be guided by Falon’Din, no matter his circumstances.” The priest said calmly. He realized this was all a show. The father seemed more concerned about how his son died, rather than that his son died. The mother put on mock tears, but she was worried about how suicide would affect their reputation. “Lord Falon’Din guides all of us when it is our time—“ 

“It wasn’t his time.” Sulahn’mi finally growled. “He didn’t go into Uthenera. _He killed himself_.” Loneliness, anger, despair, guilt all swirled inside her. At times she feared she would just crumble from the sheer weight of it all. Other times it hurt so much she wished she would. She didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. How was there a world without Theron? 

Each day she woke up from a fitful night of seeing hanging bodies, thinking it was just a dream. But then she’d remembered it wasn’t just a dream. And nothing could make it right. 

“Sulahn’mi, hush.” Her mother cooed. Sulahn’mi slid out from her embrace to glare. How could they just move on? Did they truly not care? 

“It’s fine, my lady.” The priest held up a hand when Lady Enladrin was about to reprimand her daughter. “It is good for her…” 

Sulahn’mi’s mind tuned it out. She couldn’t take anyone telling her how this would be better someday. She’d understand. She was only grieving. It’ll be alright. But it wouldn’t. Nothing could bring him back. Not wishful thinking, not the gods, nothing. Such a revelation hit her hard. She turned her anger towards beings she never met. If they truly loved us, why would they allow such a thing to happen? Why couldn’t they do something? What good were they? 

No good. That’s what they were. They were just beings who held more power than the rest. They manipulated the masses to suit themselves. They didn’t care for any of the others. She doubted Falon’Din even took notice of the souls who passed into the Beyond. 

They were useless. Her tics came loud this time, fueled by anger and little else. She glared at the priest as she stood to leave. She wouldn’t be a pawn for anyone. Theron wanted her to be her own person, to do what she wanted and hang the rest of the world. And for him, she’d do anything. 

***** 

Sulahn’mi went down to the barracks, searching. Soldiers and guards could tell by the angry twitches her jaw made occasionally and the fire in her eyes to stay out of her path. She found her way to a familiar room where Arvaan stayed. 

Only he was on the ground, putting things into his pack. 

“What are you doing?” She asked, though it came out more hostile than she intended. 

“Packing, what does it look like?” His voice was pretty much dead despite his attempt at sarcasm. She walked in a bit further. 

“Why?” 

“Because your father fired my little band so we are moving on.” Arvaan sighed, shoving some clothes into the backpack. It wasn’t like he had a lot of things. But he just hadn’t felt like packing. All he felt like doing was curling up and crying until the Beyond took him. His brother however came by earlier to say they were leaving before dusk. So he had to suck it all in and move on. 

“Why?” Sulahn’mi sat down on the bed, watching the man she came to know as a friend. His eyes were puffy, his skin pale. He had visited her once after the funeral, put on a brave face, but she knew they were both in the same boat of grief. 

Arvaan nearly growled. “I thought you were passed the age of asking why all the time.” He gave a half-hearted glare towards her which she returned. 

“Not when I don’t understand something.” She countered. She stuttered the last syllable, which made it hard for Arvaan to stay annoyed. He sighed loudly to himself before settling back on his haunches. 

“Your father fired us because my band wouldn’t get rid of me.” Sulahn’mi furrowed her eyebrows. “He called me…well called me everything but straight, claimed I corrupted his son and that his death was my fault.” He looked at the ground. “Maybe it was, I don’t know.” He should have gone to him. He could have stopped him if he had just gone to him that night… 

“How would it be your fault? Papae was the one who…” she stopped. It didn’t feel right to blame him. But had he reacted differently…if he had just stopped to hear the words he said, maybe Theron wouldn’t have… 

She could already feel tears pricking her eyes again. Funny, she thought she was out of tears. “Theron had told Papae about you two when he…” She couldn’t even say it. It was like the very word was salt grinding into her heart. 

“I figured as much when he came down to yell at me.” Arvaan sighed. He ran a hand through his blond tresses. “Anyway it doesn’t matter now. My brother told your father no, called him a noble prick, and we have to leave by dusk.” 

“But you can’t leave. Who’s going to teach me?” Sulahn’mi’s heart quickened. She didn’t like the idea of being left here alone…again. She couldn’t take it. She wouldn’t. Arvaan looked at her halla eyes. 

“Maybe…” He took a breath, knowing what he had to say was going to be hard to hear, “maybe you should just do as you are told, Sula. You already know enough about fighting. Go be the lady of the house, enjoy it.” 

Sulahn’mi looked like she had been struck. He had given up completely. As she erupted into a fit of tics and coughs, she just felt the overwhelming urge to smack Arvaan. How could he just give up? Theron would’ve wanted them to…she didn’t know. But she knew giving up was the farthest thing from what he would’ve wanted. 

She clenched and unclenched her fists before speaking. “Theron wouldn’t want me to just give up and becoming what my mother wanted!” 

“Theron’s dead, Sula. He doesn’t care what we do now. He can’t see us.” His voice held more of his anger than he would have liked. But she was young, the sooner she learned that being dead meant being dead. There was no afterlife, no in between. 

She flew to her feet, shaking. Tears were in her eyes. Then she felt her heavy coat pocket. She reached in and grabbed the note and necklace. Arvaan winced when she shoved it into his face. “I found this in my brother’s room. The note was addressed to you, so here.” 

The little carved bear hanging from the necklace nearly shattered him completely as he took it. The note was crumpled and a bit torn on the edge. Arvaan’s breath caught as he looked up at Sulahn’mi. Her eyes were hardened amber boring into him. She had read the note of course, but she wanted him to read it. He needed to read it. 

Hesitantly he unfolded it, smoothing the wrinkles. There in Theron’s classically messy script were the words: _Ir abelas, ma vhenan, ma’arlath, ma emma sa’lath_. A ways down written as though as an after thought, was still flowing elven: _I will wait for you so don’t be in a big rush to meet me._

“Damn idiot…” Arvaan muttered as a sob ripped out of him. “why couldn’t you just have come to me?” 

Sulahn’mi watched as the man curled in on himself, sobs turning to something more akin to wails. She quietly sat down next to him and wrapped her arms around him. She let her own tears leak out. She didn’t know how long they sat there, Arvaan’s wails turning to sobs turning to hiccups. But eventually his older brother came in. He actually took a step back like the scene shocked him. 

He looked upon his younger brother with pity. “Come, we must leave. Perhaps some distance will do you good.” 

Arvaan raised his head at that, fresh tears welling up in his eyes as he shook his head. “It won’t, Yariel.” He croaked. Yariel winced as his baby brother looked so beaten. It broke him to see Arvaan like this. 

“I know, Vaan. I know. But we still have to leave.” Yariel said gently. Sulahn’mi’s heart panicked again as Arvaan nodded and grabbed his pack. Never once did he let go of the note or the necklace. 

Her brain stuttered to think of how to get them to stay. She couldn’t be alone. She didn’t want to be alone. If she let them walk away, she’d lose what friends she had, lose her resolve, her strength… 

“Do you have to go?” She asked quietly. 

“I will not take orders from a noble ass, no offense my lady.” Yariel snarled. One would think a noble would have the decency to wait a few years before accusing their dead son’s lover of corrupting them, and would wait forever to say they caused the son to die. 

Sulahn’mi snorted, “None taken. Papae is an ass…” Her mind spun…There had to be some way… Then it dawned on her. She was just as noble as her father. Why couldn’t she hire them? “What if I hired you? As my trainers and bodyguards?” 

Yariel’s eyebrows flew up as he looked to his brother. Arvaan looked just as baffled as Yariel felt. “You can’t be serious.” 

Sulahn’mi frowned. “I am.” 

Yariel nearly laughed, but her deadest stare stopped it. “And just how are you going to pay us?” 

She thought a moment. She of course had no money of her own, not until she was a full adult at least. “I have jewelry and fancy paintings, you can have as much of it as you wish. I can pay for your room and board at an inn or what have you.” 

Yariel looked to his brother once more. Arvaan tried to keep his expression neutral as he shrugged, but his brother could see he was really wanting to say yes. With a sigh he conceded, “I’ll have to talk it over with the rest of the crew, but if you can meet us in Arlathan at the Felassan Inn, we’ll see, princess.” 

***** 

The contract was drawn, payment dispensed, and the training began. She worked hard to become just as tough and fierce as any soldier. Sulahn’mi shot arrows, wielded swords, and eventually swung battleaxes with ease. She trained whenever she could, with the burning hot intensity of a person possessed. 

She worked herself to exhaustion, hoping to avoid her dreams. For soon after she hired the band, her dreams became increasingly violent and disturbing. They all had the memory of finding her brother at their core. But sometimes she pushed him. Other times their father pushed him. Or their mother slit his throat. Sometimes there were fields of bodies with writhing maggots and so many flies it was like a sea of death. 

That was when the Shadow came. She didn’t know what it was to be sure, beyond a shadow that is. Usually it would just stand there like it was watching her. Occasionally she felt like it was trying to say something. But she was no mage, she couldn’t control her dreams. 

At first she feared the Shadow. It was just another terrible piece to her horrific dreams. The darkness around it ate at the bodies, trying to get to her. But she always woke up before it touched her. Then when the Shadow came, that darkness ate away everything else. It took away her nightmares. She started to love the Shadow for it meant she could sleep, truly sleep. 

As months turned to a year, she coveted those dreams. They made her feel safe inside her head again. The nights the Shadow came would be peaceful, the days after calm and she could focus passed the cloud. Those days her tics were less intense, the inner workings of her mind didn’t care if she misplaced her foot. Things didn’t have to be perfect those days. Even when her parents disowned her and she suddenly had no home, she was at peace. 

Then she spoke to the Shadow. She wasn’t sure how she did it; she wasn’t a mage after all. But perhaps the Shadow allowed her some control. She asked it who it was to which it smiled, actually smiled with teeth and everything, and said “Banal”. 

Nothing? It was nothing? She supposed it made sense since it was a shadow. But still… 

Afterwards, she and this Banal had conversations. She asked it questions, why was it there, what was it particularly, and so on. It never answered those questions. It did comment on her prowess with the blade though. It mentioned how as a mundane it was impressive, but an Arcane Warrior could easily best her. She knew that was true, she had no way of defending against an ethereal blade. The company’s resident Arcane Warrior often sparred with her, so she knew without a doubt when the ethereal blade came out the match was done. 

The Shadow seemed to have an idea. Slowly each night it told her little tricks, dropped little hints how to take the magic away, how to angle a blade to block. She of course tried, but no matter how she tried she couldn’t. 

That was when Banal asked her to let it touch her mind. With a touch, it said, she could have a whole host of abilities that were not seen in this world. But she knew from Theron that demons often offered such things. Banal seemed to be put off by this, called her an idiot child. Told her when she wanted to become more to call him, that he might come. 

That was the last she saw of the Shadow for three years. 

***** 

Arlathan was abuzz with excitement as news of a Grand Tournament spread. The best of the noble houses, their armies, and guards all vied for spots to win the prestige and not to mention the reward: a beautifully crafted silverite and obsidian greatsword that had been crafted over the course of three years. 

Sulahn’mi would be lying if she said she didn’t covet that sword. It was gorgeous, the slight curve of the blade was downright stunning. The hand guard had tiny blades of their own to maximize the deadliness of the weapon. But she wasn’t an Arcane Warrior, which the majority of contestants were. She’d be slaughtered. 

“Oh come on, princess, you are twice the fighter any of those noble asses, magic or no magic.” Yariel muttered as they sat around the table. The company had taken her in as part of their hodge-podge group. She’d gone on quite a few missions and proved that she was far from the lady her mother wanted her to be. 

Still she froze and clammed up when there strangers, hiding her face with her hands as nervousness caused frequent bouts of tics. But just with the company, she was fine. Well after they all got used to her chirping and insane need for perfection that is. Be that as it may, their weapons were always clean and sharp, and they never misplaced an item. 

Sulahn’mi fidgeted in her seat as the company all tried to convince her to enter the Tournament. “I-I can’t, there’d be so many people watching and…” Just thinking of it coiled her stomach, made her want to throw up, and induced another fit. No she couldn’t handle it. What if they saw her and her tics and laughed? What if she lost? 

“Don’t worry about the people, they just go there to watch the fight.” The gruff white-haired elf with only one good eye left snorted. Jeagen was an old army deserter, known for his large stature as well as his odd knack for riddles. At the moment she was stuck on one of his riddles. _“You heard me before, yet you hear me again, but then I die, until you call me again. What am I?”_ But she found she loved them just as much as the old elf. 

“And to place bets.” Irenna spoke up. She was the company’s Arcane Warrior, though she was terrible at healing. Her twin sister, Cvenna, was the company healer, but terrible at fighting. It was simple to tell them apart, just find the one that had the most scars and you found Irenna. 

“I’m not a mage, I can’t best someone with dirth'ena enansal.” She managed to say, watching her hands. They’d become calloused and strong with scars decorating her knuckles from punches. 

“You’ve gotten quite good at dodging, emm’asha. All the magic in the world is not worth anything if you can’t hit the person.” Cvenna noted as she daintily drank her ale. Before meeting the twins, Sulahn’mi never would have thought that possible, yet there they were sipping ale in a delicate manner. 

Sulahn’mi didn’t mention that the Shadow had told her to listen for the magic years ago. If she focused hard enough, she could feel it before it came into being. It was difficult since magic was just a part of being elven, but she could feel it. Perhaps because she was mundane. 

“But I need to be able to concentrate to dodge…with all those people I couldn’t.” 

Arvaan chuckled to himself, “Nonsense, Sula. We all know you could take anyone in that arena.” 

“Why don’t one you guys enter?” The company all laughed. 

“We aren’t of a noble house, emm’asha,” Irenna snickered, gray eyes flickering from underneath her hood. Her naturally silver lavender colored hair barely showed around her chin while her sister had hers bound in a bun. Sulahn’mi always thought the two were nobility before, but she supposed they were just lucky enough to be mages… 

“Don’t worry about the people, Sula.” Arvaan said, drawing her attention back to him. He reached into his bag and produced an odd looking piece of armor. It had a crown but attached to it was a mask. It was made of pure obsidian that caught in the torchlight. He handed it to her. “They won’t see your face, and the rules of the Tournament say in the first two rounds of fighting, no magic allowed. Gives the few mundane contestants a real chance.” 

Arvaan and Yariel had become like brothers to her in the past few years. Arvaan, in her eyes, was her brother-in-law, the necklace Theron always wore now around his lover’s. Yariel, well he was an acquired taste. He was stern, gruff, and hardly cracked a joke. But he was stupidly loyal, turning down high paying jobs because some client made a rude comment, and he was more like a mother hen than he cared to admit. 

She looked down at the armor in her hands. “You think I could win honestly?” She asked quietly. 

“There’s no harm in trying.” Yariel muttered making both Arvaan and Sulahn’mi smile in remembering another older brother saying nearly the exact same thing. 

“Well then, I’d best get to the arena then, yes?” 

***** 

She entered as Lady Enladrin, producing her signet ring when no one believed her. She may have been exiled but no one knew that. The first bout was simple enough. She was paired with another young soldier of some minor house; Sulahn’mi doubted he had even seen an actual battle before. 

The second was a bit tougher. But the man seemed to find her far more amusing than threatening. Which worked in her favor as she rushed him. She kept well inside his guard, preventing him from using his sword easily, while she was free to use her short blade. 

In the end, she advanced with only minor scrapes by the end of day one. But she feared day two. Day two magic was allowed. Her stomach was so twisted that she actually threw up while her company tried to reason with her. It wasn’t so bad; she could take them. Just remember to dodge. They could run practice drills if she was worried. 

But her mind wasn’t hearing it. She felt like she was suffocating, her shoulder twitching terribly. She felt like the world suddenly had no bottom. What if she was struck with an ethereal blade? Or an ice spell and couldn’t move? Would the bouts be to the death? Would there be any kind of regulation? What if this was all for nothing? What was she even doing there? She wasn’t a soldier, or a fighter. She was raised to be the lady of the house. 

“And who said a lady couldn’t fight?” Cvenna hissed. Sulahn’mi blinked, realizing she had been ranting aloud. The two mages stood taller, heads held high as any woman of noble birth would do. 

“Frankly,” Jeagen started, “the world needs more noble heads that can fight half as good as you. Maybe then they could settle their own fights.” 

“I’ll drink to that.” Yariel muttered. 

“I’m going against dirth'ena enansal. I have no magic to defend against that…” Sulahn’mi whined. 

“Exactly, so kick their ass.” Yariel shrugged. “Those seth’lin need a good kick in their ass. They need to learn magic can only help so much.” 

“But you’re worrying too much, Sula.” Arvaan said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “That’s tomorrow. Today you won your first matches, I say we celebrate.” The company cheered. “No alcohol for you though.” He added, pointing to Sulahn’mi. 

“What?” 

“You can’t fight with a hangover.” 

Jeagen chuckled, “He should know.” 

Arvaan glared at the old soldier. “Oh shut it, like you haven’t gotten drunk before a battle.” 

“I can hold my liquor better than you, boy.” 

***** 

Sulahn’mi’s head spun as she sat upon her bunk. Everyone else had gone to sleep, but her mind would not be quiet. She stifled her chirps with a hand, though the twins were used to her noises when she slept. 

Every worse possible outcome played before in the darkness. Her being killed, her being disfigured, roasted, frozen, maimed, skewered, sliced, carved, electrocuted, strangled, crushed, stabbed, raped, savagely torn limb from limb, beaten bloody, whipped, sold into slavery, and fried. Even some outcomes that couldn’t be possible played like being fed to the spectators or being shoved into the Beyond… 

She nearly threw up again. 

Then she remembered the Shadow, Banal. He had said he knew a way to best the magic wielding warriors. A way to take away their power. She had but to ask… She had heard that spirits could hear their thoughts, or see them or something. That they knew the world through the hearts of the living. 

So she prayed that Banal would come back to her. She was ready to learn. She didn’t want to be a failure, to become a laughing stock. Most of all she wanted to prove to everyone that she wasn’t a mistake, or broken. 

She laid her head down to sleep and found no Shadow in her dreams… 

***** 

“How you feeling?” Arvaan asked as they entered Sulahn’mi’s cell. Each combatant got their own room to warm up, clean, or in Sula’s case have a nervous breakdown. Her chirps echoed off the stones below the arena. Even from down there she could hear the crowds cheering wildly as about was going on. She could feel the vibrations as magic struck at an opponent. 

“Honestly, I want to throw up but I don’t have anything left…” She muttered from her curled position on the floor. The company laughed, sometimes she was her own worse enemy. 

“You’ll do fine, just remember to focus on the fight.” Arvaan rubbed her back soothingly. 

“Move around a lot, hard to hit moving targets with magic.” Irenna muttered. 

“And quit thinking so much.” Yariel shook his head. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack one of these days.” 

“Or prematurely gray hair.” Arvaan chuckled. 

“I don’t know…maybe I should just forfeit and hide my face in shame for the next thousand years…” Sulahn’mi dropped her head to her knees and sighed. 

“Nonsense, I did not come all this way just for you to forfeit,” Came a familiar and yet strange voice. All their heads turned to the new comer in the door, hands on their weapons. 

He was obviously some noble by the amount of fancy jewelry he wore, including two golden studs in his lower lip. His long black hair was braided to his waist, his fancy robe was more than decoration if the metal was anything to go on. What startled them the most though were his eyes that glinted and flashed despite not being near the torches. 

“Who are you?” Sulahn’mi asked with a slight stutter. The stranger snorted with a fleeting smirk. 

“You may call me Banal.” Suddenly it hit her where she had heard his voice before. The Shadow. Her mouth fell open, mind spinning on how any of this was possible. “I told you I was no demon, did I not?” 

“Sula…” Arvaan started. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end as those eyes seemed to watch them with the stare of a dragon. “Who is this?” 

Sulahn’mi’s mouth opened and closed as she tried to wrap her head around everything. Instead Banal chuckled, “Let’s say I’m an interested spectator who might, should your da’mi win, wish to hire your band…permanently.” 

Their ears perked up at that, but then came the suspicion. Who exactly was he? How did he know Sula? How did he expect to pay them for eternity? He was either full of himself, or thought them incredibly stupid… 

“So why are you here?” Yariel growled. Banal barely paid him any notice. 

“Your da’mi asked for my help, I’ve come to provide it.” Banal held out a hand. Arvaan wasn’t sure if the claws were a part of his jewelry or not… 

“The rules prohibit outside aid—“ 

“The rules do not prohibit knowledge and training during the Tournament. Both of which I offer.” Banal spat. He looked straight at Sulahn’mi. “You wish to fight on equal grounds with the dirth'ena enansal? I can show you how.” Hesitantly she took his hand. 

Magic shot up her arm, touching and twisting her being where it caressed. She could feel it whispering, telling her body how to move, what to do. She felt her body become more aware to the faint glances of magic all around her. Energy clawed through her body that reached out to the magic to take it in. And then her knees collapsed, Banal’s magic leaving her. “What did you do?” Yariel hissed. But Banal only laughed darkly. 

“I look forward to your bout, Lady Enladrin. It shall be…most interesting to watch.” And then he disappeared down the corridor once more. But Sulahn’mi heard inside her an echoing power. Suddenly she realized her whole body had a void of magic. All around her was magic, but inside was empty. 

But that emptiness could flex, reach out to the other magic. It could take it, absorb it, make into energy for her body…A grin spread across her face. Now she didn’t have any worry, for she was no longer powerless. 

“What was that all about?” Arvaan muttered as he helped Sulahn’mi to her feet just as the runner came to the door announcing her bout was next. 

“Who knows with nobles…” Jeagen muttered. “You feeling okay, da’len?” 

Sulahn’mi nodded, “I’m better than okay.” She slid on her mask hiding the little tics that emerged as excitement bubbled inside her. She could win. She would win. 

And she did. The first mundane Champion in recorded Elvhen history rose her prize with strength and pride. She spotted her Shadow clapping silently in the crowds as she was decorated. There was a woman beside him with pale blonde hair, his wife perhaps? 

That same woman met Sulahn’mi’s band outside the arena with a map and an offer: room and board, a permanent contract, and all the riches they could dream if they could find the temple the map was supposed to lead them too. Before they could ask any questions, the woman vanished. 

In the end the band travelled to the far flung corners of the Empire, to a remote desert filled with Sulphur pits. And surprisingly an old temple where they were welcomed in darkness, paid in blood, and loved in nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to do this and the other two's backstories because I can only reveal so much at a time. And these three characters are unique and I love them and feel the need to share them with people because I've spent hours with them and you guys haven't. 
> 
> Also I apologize for the storybook quality of writing...I couldn't think of any other way... And the Chapter titles for these three will be taken from The Dawn Will Come from the Dragon Age: Inquisition soundtrack which inspired their themes... And I'm sorry it's so long...I love all my characters to death...
> 
> P.S. can you solve the riddle?


	2. Shadows Fall (Samahlnan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people find comfort in the dark because the light is too horrific.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you haven't read chapter 14 of Nothing yet, you might be a little confused. You'll be totally confused if you haven't read Nothing at all so I'd suggest you reading that before this ;)
> 
> The Gardens were inspired by [this here picture ](http://mystic-dreams.m.y.pic.centerblog.net/o/a9c921cf.jpg) and all dancing was inspired by belly dancing because that stuff is beautiful.
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments, so far these three have gotten really good responses which eases my anxiety and heightens my excitement level...
> 
> Trigger Warning: Abuse, rape, and murder ahead. Oh and some non-descriptive smuttiness too...

Shadows that’s all they were. Or so they kept telling her. _There’s nothing wrong with you. There are no shadows._ And they certainly don’t talk. Her mother’s voice repeated over and over in her head. Samahlnan squinted, focusing on her tutor’s mouth as a shadow danced behind him. Well he wasn’t a tutor…he was her neighbor’s son who had been able to be trained properly as a mage and agreed to teach poor Samahlnan. 

“Magic is a part of every being; it is their breath and their blood. Mages can merely manipulate the very nature of it…” She clenched her jaw tightly, lips moving as though she were trying to speak. Her hands absently smoothed the wrinkles in her tattered skirt. “…with a thought, a breath. Magic is so much a part of our kind that we have no schools to teach it for all Elvhen can use it naturally…” He paused in pacing the area by the fireplace to look at her. 

She tried hard not to look at the shadow near him, not to hear what it was speaking. But her mouth moved of its own accord. Only she could understand what she said, well she and the shadow. It was just a string of random words. 

The shadows could only understand parts of her language; they didn’t know sentences and grammar, just words. So you had to speak in disoriented words for them to understand…But no one listened. There were no shadows. Only the imagination of a silly six year old girl. 

Her tutor frowned, following her eyes to the empty air. “Shadows?” 

Samahlnan’s face became fearful, wide blue eyes growing larger. “Y-yes, hahren…” 

He sighed. She was smart and gifted, but her connection to the Beyond never diminished when she woke. Or at least that’s how the physician put it. She was constantly both in and out of reality. 

“Ignore them, Sama; they aren’t real. Now let’s work on fire, it’ll come in handy this winter.” 

***** 

She hid, curling up inside her, as something broke downstairs. Her little arms covered her head, trying to block out the world. Shadows and yells all swam through her ears. Were she to open her eyes, she knew she’d see many shadows dancing in her loft. 

They were attracted by the shouts her parents made. Some wanted to help, others fed the fire. She could feel them wrap around her, some lovingly, some strangling, other just out of curiosity. She couldn’t understand, not the fighting, not the touching, nothing. 

A slap sounded around her. Her body shook as it tried to make itself smaller. Tears formed around her eyes. Why? Why were they fighting? Did everyone’s parents fight? Did everyone’s Papaes hit their Mamaes? Was it normal? Was that love? 

She hoped not. She hated it when Papae hit her. It hurt. And when she cried, it got worse. He’d tell her to stop crying, he’d hug her throat so she couldn’t. Sometimes he wouldn’t let go until she fell asleep. Her mother would sometimes hit him with something. But he’d only drop Samahlnan to grab her and throw her. It only got worse still when he tried to visit his friends that lived inside a bottle. 

The shadows were nice, soothing, kind, and gentle with their touches. But the shadowed shadows’ touch felt like sawdust in her eyes or a halla’s bite. But they weren’t real. None of this was real. She’d wake up and find all this a nightmare… 

But she never woke up and she never fell asleep. 

***** 

She liked her dreams the most. They were filled with beautiful gardens. Trees with glowing crystals that lit up the mists, moonlight that got caught in the leaves, pathways made of crystal that lit up in gentle glows of shifting colors. Plants glowed delicate mists, the water was always warm as it touched her bare feet. 

The waters lit up at the slightest touch. The wind would form a song through carved tree trunks, flowers that did not exist would bloom and sing in the breeze. And she danced. Over the waters, she danced, lights playing around her feet as she danced across the surface. Shadows joined her sometimes. 

Her magic was calm, it was beautiful as it spun around her. Fires engulfed her dress without torching it. Lightning flew as she pirouetted. Water was her ribbons, her scarves. It lit up and danced with every color in the world. 

There she could be herself, talk however she wanted, let her soul dance. There were no chains, no one to reprimand her. She and the shadows could dance and talk under the glowing canopy. Sometimes they’d show her things. Little fragments of lives lost long ago. She saw children run through forests, odd little people blink in the sun, warriors sing as they marched to their deaths. That was her favorite. She asked the spirits to teach her the song. 

She sung it to the beat of her heart, a solemn song that she heard forever in her head. 

There in The Gardens, that became her reality, her waking moments just a dream. But everyone had to live their lives, not dream them away. 

***** 

Years flew by and Samahlnan grew into a beautiful young woman much like a flower bloomed in the spring. She learned to control her gifts, to ignore the shadows in other people’s presence, humming to herself when she heard them begin to speak. 

She tended the fields with her magic, she lit the fires, fixed leaking roofs, heated metal for things, calmed the animals, mended clothing, sang, danced, and pretended everything was okay. But the yelling that came from below her loft told her nothing was okay. The bruises that decorated her mother were like medals given to war heroes. Though they marked every battle she lost, she wore them with grace. 

Bruises bloomed over Samahlnan’s own skin, like the gardens she’d seen in her dreams. She was her father’s garden, something to be admired, touched, smelled, and ripped out by the roots. But she was told not to tell, to keep quiet unless she wanted her tongue clipped. So silence became her life. She listened to the songs inside her head and ignored the outside world. 

As the trees lost their leaves and the world grew white, news spread of the prince taking a new mistress. He was already married to some noble woman, with his line secure in an eleven-year-old son, but as with most lords he required someone with less attachment and more fun. 

Samahlnan’s mother looked to her daughter. Raven black hair that had no waves but add a few, some pearls and pins, and it could form a tantalizing frame for her naturally pale skin. Prominent cheekbones, slightly tilted eyes, lithe form of a dancer…Suddenly her mother found a hole, a way out. For her daughter at least. 

Even if she had to sell all her jewelry, every last keepsake she had of her parents, to buy her a beautiful dress and find someone to teach her to read…Her daughter could escape. 

***** 

“What do you think of this one, Sama?” Her mother, Kamaya, held up yet another patch of fabric. Her daughter’s eyes were flickering everywhere before they focused on the thing in her mother’s hand. It was purest turquoise, light and airy. Samahlnan frowned deeply. 

She couldn’t understand why they were there. Her dresses weren’t that ratty yet. Moreover they could just spin their own fabric, why did they have to come all the way to town for cloth? But her mother had hitched the carriage and stolen her daughter away while her husband slept off his rage, so Sama couldn’t see a reason to protest. 

Her mother was far too delicate a woman for any of this. Her breaths came in ragged puffs, she was constantly clammy, and was nothing but skin and bones. A breeze might knock her over, and a whisper might shatter her. Yet this fragile woman could take blows that would drop a soldier. 

And she was stubborn as a halla. 

“Why must it be blue? Why not red? Black?” Sama muttered. Her mother sighed loudly, putting the swatch back down. 

“Black would be too harsh a color and red…well red is the color of blood and—“ 

“Blood is life mother.” Kamaya looked at how her daughter’s eyes unfocused slightly before they returned. Sometimes she wondered if the child thought this the dream. “Red is a beautiful color. But if it must be blue, maybe a dark blue? Like a…swamp at night?” 

Kamaya blinked, feeling like she was missing something. But dark and rich tones…perhaps like a raven? Or as Samahlnan said, nature at night…Most girls chose bright colors, colors of flowers and exotic birds. But Sama was far from other girls… 

“Alright, find a color you like Sama.” Her daughter blinked. Nothing was ever her choice. She was told not asked. She didn’t know how to form her own opinion. She was a caged bird, not asked if she wished to fly or remain. 

So it was odd to told to find something she liked. She wasn’t sure she knew what she liked. Samahlnan’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked around the tailor, the old shopkeeper watching like a hawk. Her mother’s jewels were spread over the table as payment in advance. Her mother was giving everything up so this could be perfect… 

Sama’s stomach coiled tightly, as she almost frantically looked over the silks and satins. She didn’t know what any of this was for…She was a stupid farm girl, the most she knew about fashion was how to make a dress that didn’t matter if it got dirty. Truthfully she was afraid to touch anything for fear she’d smear something… 

“May I ask what is this occasion, my ladies?” The shopkeeper asked, though the last word was strained. Kamaya paid it no mind. Her daughter would look exactly as a lady should by the end of this all. 

“Hell if I know…” Samahlnan muttered under her breath. Her mother’s glare made her look down at her dirty feet. 

“With any luck it’ll be for the prince.” Her mother coughed loudly. The shopkeeper frowned but didn’t say anything. 

“Ah then might I suggest perhaps a fine silk?” 

Kamaya finished coughing into her scarf before shaking her head. “She needs to be able to dance in it. Preferably something airy, durable, and magic proof.” 

“I can control my powers, Mamae,” Samahlnan whined. So she lit herself on fire one time… 

But the old woman was nodding as if she understood completely. She walked over to Samahlnan, so close the young girl nearly bent over backwards to avoid being face to face with the old crone. 

“I’m afraid such fabrics are perhaps out of your price range…and that’s not including the design. Such clothes take metals and jewels.” 

Her mother sighed loudly. She still had to pay for reading lessons…She looked hopelessly at the jewels she already had given up. Her mother’s necklace, her grandmother’s bracelet, her dead sister’s ring… 

“Couldn’t you just use the jewels from what I’ve given you?” 

The woman shook her head, “I can make you a dress, little else.” 

***** 

The dress felt odd as it hugged Samahlnan’s body. A wide neckline exposed much of collarbone and a tasteful amount of her chest. Delicate floral designs decorated the deep blue garment in an almost shimmering way. Like they were there but not. Much like the shadows. It didn’t drag the ground, showing off her delicate feet. 

She didn’t like it. It was confining with a straight skirt, no slit up the sides to allow her to run or dance or jump. Did all ladies wear such things? She couldn’t imagine they did much tending to gardens. Sama was afraid she’d rip a seam somewhere if she moved. 

But her mother’s face lit up seeing her in it, so she supposed she could tolerate it. What upset her more was that she was supposed to somehow manage to meet the prince, but oh no she couldn’t just stop there. She had to woo him. She hadn’t wooed anyone in her entire life. Moreover she didn’t know what the prince looked like. All the noble asses looked the same to her. 

“So explain to me why I have to do this?” Samahlnan whined as she was placed in front of a book, her old tutor sitting across from her. 

“Ladies read poetry.” Her mother said softly before blood rattled in her lungs. Her coughs echoed off the wood as she tucked her face into her increasingly more stained scarf. 

Samahlnan winced. No healer’s spell could save her, that’s what the doctor said. Just as there was no cure for Sama’s shadows. 

The only difference was Sama liked her shadows. She hated the cough. 

***** 

Samahlnan was numb by the time her father was finished. Her eyes merely drifted around the room, not seeing as he gathered his things and left as he always did. Far too ashamed to say anything, to look at her, but too far gone to be helped. 

She sat up on her bed, fixing her dress absently. She was sure if she let herself come back to her body she’d feel worms crawling over her, tears biting her eyes, and soreness in her womanhood. But as it was she was dancing in a swamp, surrounded by mist. It was like dancing on clouds as she twirled and twisted. 

She was far gone into her Garden. She didn’t even notice her mother entering with a washrag. It wasn’t until she was touched that she came crashing down into her body. Pain, shame, anger was everywhere, in every pore. Her magic bit and tore at the air as her mind struggled with everything. Samahlnan panicked trying to return to the Garden. This is just a dream, just a nightmare… 

But her mother pressed her head to her chest, “Shhhh, da’len,” Tears streamed down Samahlnan’s face as she couldn’t handle being there. She felt used, crumpled, a doll that was ripped and torn to shreds and forgotten in a corner. But underneath it all she was furious. Why would he touch her? Why would he take all power from her? 

For that was what he did. He took power, just as he had taken her innocence long ago. She was helpless, just a doll to be used and discarded. Trapped and strangled by chains that were worse than the markings of a slave. 

But her mother’s gentle hands rubbed her back as sob after sob ripped out of Samahlnan’s throat. She sang old lullabies as her daughter started to leave this world for a much better one. 

Just as Sama’s eyes, too sore and tired to remain open anymore, fluttered close, Kamaya whispered, “I will get you out of here, I promise, da’len.” 

***** 

Months flew by as she learned to read and write. She memorized songs, ballads, so much so that she began speaking in one long ballad. But her mother was pleased. It added to her charm, made everything she said that much more beautiful. Samahlnan would be lying if she said she did not enjoy the poems. They were like the songs the shadows taught her. 

However, she loved going to Arlathan even more. It was so different from her little farm with buildings of white stones that reached into the sky. The forest was very much a part of the city but it was more like the crystals grew from the forest and the city grew from the crystals. 

And there was so much color. Satins, silks, ribbons, golds, pearls, and gems of every color littered the place. It was like the whole city was crafted out of every single stupidly expensive item there was. She was dazzled to say the least. 

The whole city was alight with strange gossip of a mundane winning the Grand Tournament. How could such a thing happen? What was her secret to besting the hidden gift? That sort of thing. But apparently the Champion disappeared soon after winning. Oh the amount of gossip there was around that! Everything from pirates to being the soul of some dead soldier coming back to life to win former glory came up. 

There was also fear in the air, outrage. Someone was looting the graves of the honored dead. What few witnesses there were all had obviously delirious accounts of a raven, a mouse, and even a griffon. Posters decorated every wall it seemed asking for information concerning this bastard. 

It was a very odd place for Samahlnan. Shadows rivaled the amount of people. Some people had these shadows following them, other shadows stayed to the side to watch. Others stuck their noses into people’s business. Still others tried to be noticed. But only Samahlnan saw them. 

Oh and the noise! She didn’t even have to hum to block out the shadows talking to her. There were just so many people talking at once, halla and harts pulled carts and carriages, and somewhere there was always music playing, whether from a dance hall or an inn. 

But more than that, she met the prince. 

Prince Seris Tabri was a handsome man, she’d give him that. Tall, a glowing complexion, hair the color of tree bark, eyes a dazzling twilight color. When he talked it was like a song. Everyone would stop to hear him speak. He held himself like a storybook noble. She could see the appeal in that she supposed. 

Their first meeting, however, was anything but storybook. 

***** 

Samahlnan was busy trying to find her way back to the inn her Mamae set her up in. Kamaya’s illness prevented her from travelling this far, but Samahlnan was hardly a child. And she had the shadows to help her. 

The little wisp of a shadow was trying to show her where to turn, but she kept losing it as people jostled her to and fro. She kept being spun around, having to find the faint gloom again. It was slow progress and she concentrated entirely on that little shade. Like a fire suddenly coming to life, her world dissolved around her. She was back at the Garden, the buildings turned to trees with thick and thorny vines at their bases to prevent her from cutting across. 

It made the world easier, less noise though wind would sometimes jostle her, but she could keep track of her guide. It moved its arms as though beckoning her forward. Her steps were quicker despite the wind pushing hard against her. 

She could see a little bungalow in the distance, shining in a clearing. Moonlight lit the white stones afire and fire bugs danced merrily around its door. She breathed a sigh of relief as the little guide waited by the door almost as though it was dancing with joy. 

Then as she moved towards the building, she smacked into something. The Garden crumbled away and Arlathan came back. Samahlnan staggered back muttering her apologizes. Her eyes struggled to focus back on this world, her head screaming as there was suddenly too much noise again. 

“Where are you going in such a rush that you have to trample me?” Came a sultry voice. She blinked and looked up into twilight colored eyes. She blinked several times to ensure he wasn’t just another hallucination. When he didn’t disappear, she quickly bowed. 

“Ir abelas, my prince. I was…” She struggled to form a lie, “caught amongst my own thoughts.” She heard him chuckle. But she didn’t dare look up at him again as a blush crept over her face. 

“You’d think I was my father the way you are bowing.” Seris muttered. Not that he was complaining. The view was quite nice. 

Samahlnan straightened, the familiar feel of eyes on her slinking over her skin. She shoved the feeling away, keeping her eyes downcast. The ground has such pretty swirls… “Ir abelas. You must be heading somewhere, so I’ll take my leave.” She carefully inched around him. 

“Hold on,” His voice made her freeze. “Do you not have an escort, Lady…” She tried not to cringe at his smile. She could spot honeyed words a mile away. The stable hand her father hired often tried it on her. But she had no interest in fake courtesy. She wanted to be told she was beautiful, strong, and smart. For real. Not just flattery. 

“Samahlnan, your majesty.” She bowed her head slightly, keeping her gaze even. “And no, only a fool would attack a mage.” Seris’s eyebrows rose. But his smile spread as he carefully took her hand and bowed to kiss it. 

“Andran’atishan, Lady Samahlnan. Pleasure meeting you.” He straightened, noticing how she remained unimpressed. So she was playing hard to get with the look of a mysterious alley cat watching mice play below her. He could play that game too. “Perhaps you will allow me to escort you—“ 

“No. I’m perfectly capable of walking myself home. Ma serannas.” And then she turned from him, trying hard to fight the shiver that ran up her spine. Dirthamen’enaste…she hated courting. 

Seris watched her walk away. There was something tantalizing about her. Perhaps it was the skin the color of the full moon, or the hair the color of a raven’s wing, or the eyes the color of a pure water. Or that she was so distant. Or her voice that spoke in the tone of poetry. Or her grace of a dancer. 

Whatever it was that drew him to her, he was going to be damned sure to figure it out. 

***** 

They bumped into a few more times, each time ending in Samahlnan walking away as her mother told her to do. Don’t let yourself be too easy. You must be like a cat, relaxed as you wait for the mouse to creep out before you sink your claws. 

The image that came to mind was rather funny to her. Seris this little brown mouse and her a large house cat…preferably a tabby, no a calico. She loved calicos. She loved cats, they were so cute and soft. And they purred their affection. She had a cat once. Her father threw it against the wall in a fit and broke its neck. She never did forgive him for that. Even just remembering it smacking against the wood with a tiny mew, nearly brought her to tears again. 

Sometimes she felt like that little cat. 

Right now, though she wished she was a cat. Then she could just scratch the man’s hand to get him to stop touching her. But this was the prince. And her only chance of leaving her father behind. So she tolerated it. 

Samahlnan finally allowed him to walk her home, well to the inn she was staying at for the last two months. 

“An inn?” Seris asked as he stopped outside the door. It wasn’t even one of the fancier inns. It was a falling apart inn at best. 

“I told you I live far from here in the plains.” Samahlnan muttered in her distant tone. Seris chuckled to himself. She was quite coy. 

“I recall that yes, but could you not stay in one of the…better inns. There’s one not far from the palace—“ 

“I do not wish to stay there. Here is fine. Humble people, relatively clean beds, and a cook who likes to tell tales and cooks a mean stew.” In truth she liked it there. The staff were gruff but real friendly. At first she thought she was going to be murdered in her sleep from all the shady characters, but they nodded their heads, stood up when she entered the room (if they didn’t the tavernkeep would knock them on their knuckles or heads with a hefty wooden spoon), and were by far the politest people she had met in Arlathan. 

Which didn’t speak highly of the nobility there. So far she’d been to four tea parties and two soirées all of which were nothing but complaints, snide comments, holier-than-thou attitudes, and disgusting wines. Give her ale any day. 

The prince didn’t seem to agree with her. “You can’t be serious. It is a place for criminals, commoners, and—“ 

“All good people if you give them a chance. Criminals are only branded such by the people who had think them higher than they. Some of them steal to eat, or to have enough to buy winter clothing for their children or to ensure their wife has the proper care when she gives birth.” She gave him a steely glare. “This world is not black and white, your majesty. Now, you’ve seen me home. Dareth Shiral.” And she waltzed through the rickety door like a perfect ice queen. 

***** 

“And I win again.” Samahlnan smiled as she revealed her cards. The men at the table all stared in disbelief. Around the inn was buzzing as the shady characters all crawled out of their hidey holes once the sun set. Some were singing out of key, some were drinking alone, others were conducting deals. The whole place though had a light and joyous feel despite the dim lighting. 

“Fenedhis lasa! Even when I cheat I lose!” One man grumbled as he threw his hands to the ceiling. She giggled to herself. The men around her were gruff, weathering skins, numerous scars, bad teeth, but were also some of the sweetest people she had ever met. Granted they sucked at cards, and often tried to cheat, but still they were sweet. 

“Falon’Din must have graced you with good fortune da’asha.” Fellan muttered under his breath as he threw his cards down. He was an old farm hand who had been tried as a halla thief, shown by the nasty brand on his cheek. He was also missing two fingers on his left hand from it. 

Adren the Wyvernslayer, the man who cussed despite her presence, threw back his ale in a big gulp. Gray was speckled over his black head, but his green eyes were still sharp despite the wyvern claw marks on his face. Nasiara, the innkeeper’s daughter, filled up their mugs again. 

“Well perhaps Lady Sama would be more inclined to let you win if you didn’t cheat, Ser Wyvernslayer.” She was barely fourteen, but her tongue was sharp as any criminal’s. Probably because criminals were all that came here. It was the only place that’d take their gold. 

The Hellathen’atishan was often frequented by guards, but the keeper had some strange system that alerted those who may or may not be accused of a crime to vacate or hide in one of the many hidden places. And if one were to ask Garel how it worked or why he did what he did, he’d get a sheepish grin and refuse to answer. Not even Nasiara understood the reasons. 

The Lotusmaker, Talaros the Skinner, and Soralan the Liar all collectively snickered. 

“Aye lethallin, she had a point. Perhaps you should quit gambling.” The Lotusmaker said with his strange accent. He was a drug dealer, specializing in obviously lotus based drugs, who had came to Arlathan after he had narrowly escaped capture in his hometown. He still wore the bandages covering the bridge of his nose. He had wicked black eyes and curly blond hair that hung over his cheerful face. 

“Even I could tell you were lying.” Talaros the Skinner muttered as he stared blankly ahead. He was so named because he was once a prominent hunter who had the unfortunate privilege of being accused of poaching on the King’s lands. He was subsequently blinded. But the older man still managed to be the best tanner and butcher for actually poached game. 

“Oi, shut your mouths,” Adren grumbled. “I swear, you cast some spell…” He narrowed his green eyes at Sama who only smiled. 

“Why, Ser, you aren’t accusing a lady of cheating are you?” She mocked. She batted her thick eyelashes at him in feigned innocence. In truth she had cheated. The shadows would tell her what cards were in their hands, and what cards were next allowing her, the dealer, to perhaps change who got what cards. Not that she’d admit that… 

Adren snorted loudly. “I don’t know how you do it, asha, but I swear I’ll figure it out someday.” 

Soralan, who hardly ever spoke, rolled his violet eyes. “Please, lethallin, you’ll be in Uthenera before you figure it out.” His white hair was bound in hundreds of tiny braids that were pulled tight into a ponytail. When Adren turned his glare to the Liar, Soralan grinned widely flashing chipped teeth, his odd scar (one that ran from under his right eyebrow, across his nose, and ended on his chin) with an odder story scrunched up. 

“I can’t tell if you are saying I’ll beat her someday or if you are being serious…” Frankly no one could. Soralan was a conundrum; he was classified a crier, one of those people who shout news at the top of his lungs, but he more like the criminals’ crier. He stole guard schedules, was an occasional mole, and perhaps the most skilled liar in all of Elvhenan. Seriously he could make you believe he had slain a dragon with nothing but a fork and a bunch of grapes. 

“I’m being absolutely serious. When I can’t tell how she does it, you won’t.” Soralan shrugged with his signature sassy grin. 

“Perhaps we should quit while we’re ahead…” The Lotusmaker (no one knew his real name) muttered as he had to throw in one of his gold rings because he lacked the amount he had bet. 

“I think that’d be wise, but no one ever accused you four of being wise.” Talaros chuckled as he scratched the wolf paw tattoo that was barely visible on the right side of his neck. From what Sama had been able to gather, it was a symbol of the elusive band of hunters that did everything from banditry to poaching. Not that anyone but the group knew if that was true. But Talaros was the perfect fence and skinner since he was blind. He couldn’t know the thief and so the guards didn’t bother him. Who would bring an animal to a blind skinner anyway? 

“Oh, be quiet you,” Fellan growled. 

“Don’t be sore losers, ma falon. Here I’ll let you win it all back…” Sama smiled sweetly. Their faces all twisted into insulted glares. 

“Keep your money, asha.” Adren hissed. 

“We’ll win it back someday.” Soralan muttered as he stood up. “Same time tomorrow?” 

“Aye,” The Lotusmaker nodded before he drained his mug. “Hopefully with more coin to lose. I don’t want to leave without my clothes again.” 

“Hey I gave them back.” Samahlnan laughed. They were really bad gamblers. 

“The day after.” He narrowed his black eyes at her. 

“Don’t bet what you don’t want to lose.” She giggled, “And I’m afraid I’m not going to be around to take your money.” 

Nasiara’s small ears practically perked up. “Why are you meeting the prince again?” The young girl was obviously taken by his so-called charm. Samahlnan had tried to deter her from such childish fantasies but they were persistent. 

“No doubt another idiotic soirée will come up and all his would-be mistresses will have to attend.” She rolled her eyes. The men grumbled loudly. 

“Don’t see why you have to kiss up to that seth’lin.” The Lotusmaker muttered. He was older than Samahlnan, but still the youngest of their games. She could tell he was very unhappy when she told them all why she was there. But she doubted being a drug dealer’s wife would end well. 

“He’s better than my father, at least in theory.” 

***** 

Samahlnan fanned herself as she watched the others fawn over Seris. She rolled her eyes. Fenedhis lasa, they were desperately trying to get him to lay with him weren’t they? Kamaya told her to refuse any such attempts in many of their letters. Why buy the halla if you could get the milk for free? Frankly, she didn’t see the sex appeal. 

He was obviously charming, yes, but that charm was that of a snake. His father was falling ill, and she hazarded a guess that Seris was behind it. She might have been a country girl, but she wasn’t blind. And he was a pompous ass. 

As he bragged about some hunt he had gone on, the other girls giggled and coaxed his ego. Samahlnan snorted as she took a sip from her glass. Thankfully this was brandy, she couldn’t stand anymore wine. 

“You seem…different…” A young boy’s voice muttered from the shadows. Her head swiveled to find a smaller version of Seris looking up at her. 

“I hope I seem different; I’d hate to be mistaken for one of them.” She jerked her head towards the swarm. The little boy snickered. 

“They remind me of puppies jumping all over you for a treat.” 

Samahlnan chuckled. “That’s certainly one way to describe it.” 

“I’m Fenrian by the way.” 

Samahlnan curtsied to the young boy, “I know who you are. Your father would have my head if I did not.” 

“He wouldn’t kill you…at least I hope not.” 

“You underestimate the power your family holds.” She smirked as he bowed to her. “I am Samahlnan.” 

“Well it is good to meet you, Lady Samahlnan. I’m glad to see someone not kowtowing after my father.” The boy straightened. She supposed she couldn’t call him a boy. He was maybe seven or six years younger than her, at the age where he was beginning to enter manhood. But his cheeks were still round with childhood and his body still short. 

Sama smiled as she sipped her brandy. “Glad to have your approval at least. I’m afraid my…competitors find me snobbish.” 

Fenrian snorted, “Of course you are ignoring the great Prince Seris.” He rolled his golden eyes. He must have gotten them from his mother, who avoided these little gatherings like the plague. “Frankly, I think my father needs to be ignored.” 

“I’d say I drink to that but you are too young to drink.” 

Fenrian looked at her oddly again. “If you don’t mind me saying so, milady, but you don’t seem to be of the same…type as the others…” 

“No I don’t suppose I would.” Samahlnan looked once to ensure no one was listening in. Her mother warned against telling anyone her true place of birth. If it got out she was a simple farm girl, she’d be taken advantage of for merely being born of a lower social class. Everyone knew country people would do anything you told them because they lacked brains or some such idiocy. “I was born on a farm; I rather hate my father, and figure yours would be an improvement.” She muttered to her glass. 

“Ah…That explains much.” Fenrian nodded acting nonchalant. 

“You mustn’t tell your father though; last thing I want is for him to think just because I am one rung above slave that I owe him anything or he’s entitled to anything.” 

Fenrian knew that would be his father exact reaction too. His father seemed to think that the lower you were, the more power he had. It never crossed his mind that those of lower class needed more from the upper class. Granted the lower class was what everything was based on. Without slaves or farms the nobility wouldn’t have any of their nice things. You’d think that’d make his father treat them kindly. Nope. The moment he became King, it was going to get a lot worse. 

And looking at Samahlnan, who held herself as any other noble woman but obviously knew better than to be tricked by flashy jewels, he felt pity for them. What made them lower than him? What made his blood blue, and theirs red? In his opinion, Sama had more brain and class than the others. 

“Of course, you have nothing to fear from me, milady.” He bowed slightly. Little did they know a small and hopeful woman was returning from powdering her nose behind them. And a little idea popped in her head. 

***** 

She woke up to someone grabbing her hair harshly. Samahlnan made noises of protest, little quiet screams as she was dragged to her feet by her roots. Her body was heavy, groggy. Her mind struggled to remember anything. It was just a big hazy in front of her eyes. 

“Let…go…” She cried as someone was yanking her forward. A hand smacked her across the face. Tears sprung to her eyes. What was going on? Where was she? Who was holding her? Pain radiated in her wrists, her legs, her everything really. But between her legs hurt the most. Faint images, tiny shadows of a memory, sprung behind her eyes. 

Seris… 

_“No.” She growled, stepping back from him. Her eyes were icy daggers trying to pierce is very soul. His hand stayed on her hip. She clawed her hand and swatted it till he dropped it with a chuckle. Like she was some stubborn child._

 _“How else am I going to know if you’d be a decent mistress?” He chuckled in his haughty tone. It was like slime over her skin. She wanted to shove a dagger into his windpipe. He had managed to get her into a secluded part of the palace, far from guards and servants. Or perhaps he had arranged that._

 _

“You wait, that’s how,” She spat. Her lips felt itchy like she had eaten a peach. But she told herself it was just the brandy. Her world was becoming hazy around the edges. Seris chuckled again. “I don’t think you understand, asha’alas.” She narrowed her eyes at the insult. “But in case you forgot, I’m the prince, and you’re just a farmer’s daughter. What makes you think I’d have you dirty my sheets without knowing how good you are beforehand?” 

Samahlnan’s fury reached its height then. She was not lower than him. She would not stoop to such depravity to get someone in her bed. That was disgusting. As his hands wrapped around her hips again, thinking her glaring silence was compliance. Flashes of her father came to mind. 

No, no more. She thought. Her knee rammed into his precious jewels; the prince gave a yelp, immediately clutching himself. His twilight eyes glared at her before she slapped him. She was wobbly on her feet suddenly. But she still felt satisfaction at the resounding slap, at the trickle of blood that leapt to the surface of his cheek. 

“Fuck you.” She hissed at him. She spun on her heel and began to unsteadily walk away. A hand gripped her wrist so tightly it hurt. 

“You will.” Growled in her ear. She opened her mouth to scream as an arm wrapped around her waist. The hand on her wrist disappeared and reappeared over her mouth. A scream was muffled by his hands. 

Fear sprung to her mind as she was dragged backwards, kicking. But her body was getting far away. Black was around her vision. A tingling sensation took up residence in her veins. 

Where’s my magic? She thought distantly. It had always come to her aid. But she couldn’t find it. It was nowhere to be found. It was like having a limb cut off. So she kicked and scream until her voice cracked and her body finally left her mind…

_

Tears poured down her cheeks as she felt his hands again and again. The pain from her hair being ripped out was nothing compared to the pain she felt inside. Her body felt broken, dirty, soiled. It was as though she had her heart ripped out and rubbed in the dirt. There was rage there too. A burning hot rage that had her magic been more than a flicker inside her, it would have unleashed the fury and burned the palace to the ground as only magic fire could. 

She was vaguely aware she was being dragged lower in the palace. The walls became dirtier and the ceiling lower. Gray stones replaced the white ones. Her feet were clumsy as the drug slowly wore off. 

The hand never left her hair as they walked through the tunnel. As her eyes focused she could see she was being followed by an armored guard. “What’s…going on?” She croaked. Her throat hurt from screaming. 

“You are under arrest for the assault and seduction of our lord prince.” 

***** 

They shaved her head. To prevent lice they said, but it was more a degradation than anything. She wept quietly as she watched her pretty black hair fall away. Her scalp was cut a few times before the end came. Then they threw her, literally threw her, in a tiny cell with only one window far up. 

The floor was dirt, the walls crawling with spiders and other insects. Her torn dress was turning brown. When the door finally banged shut, she collapsed on the ground. Sobs tore out of her. Her hands felt the stubbly remains of her hair. 

Wails echoed oddly in there. They bounced and came back to her, rattling in her lungs to be reborn. She didn’t understand. She was raped and she was being accused of seducing the bastard who raped her? How was that even a thing? She didn’t know. Samahlnan wasn’t sure she’d ever know. 

As she curled up with herself, she knew one thing: she could understand why people needed to be murdered. Hatred, anger, hurt, and the feeling of being soiled all wrapped around her heart. Her magic flared out, fire and lightning slamming against the wards. The bars of her cell sung with electricity. The stones sizzled with heat as she fell to the side. 

Her tears slowed as she noticed shadows trapped in their respective cages. The wards kept them there. But they were staring at her. She could hear them talking. But she didn’t listen. They weren’t real. Her Garden wasn’t real. They were just childish dreams and everyone had to wake up sometime. 

Tears died on her cheeks as she shut her eyes, if only to rid herself of pain. 

But even the Beyond, the Garden would not heal her. The Garden broke down around her as she hugged her knees to her chest. The lights were no longer bright and ethereal. They were dingy browns like the air was nothing but sulfur. The plants withered and died. The trees turned to gnarled demons with thorns strangling them. 

The waters beneath her feet were muddy brown now. Samahlnan buried her face in her arms. There were no words to describe how she felt, but the Gardens tried their hardest to bring her emotions to life. 

“My, you’ve done quite a number on my Garden…” Came a sultry voice after she sat there for ages, crying. Sama barely rose her head. Just another shadow. It’ll leave like all the rest. But…slowly her mind processed that this shadow spoke a whole sentence in perfect elven. 

Her eyes stung as they looked up. This shadow was darker than the rest. Fragments broke off it, touching the water and turning it black too. “What are you?” Her voice was hoarse. The shadow tilted its head to the side. 

“I am many things.” It said. Slowly the darkness receded from the figure in the middle. It revealed pale skin, black hair bound in a braid, and blazing eyes of green and red. “You may call me Banal though.” 

Samahlnan had dealt with many spirits before, but this Banal didn’t feel like a regular spirit. There was more substance to him. Like an endless pool of water, the deeper she felt, the more there was. Her eyes were dead as she watched him walk towards her. 

“What do you want? Your Gardens back? You can take them, I don’t care.” She felt utterly empty as she sat there in the pond. If the water had let her, she would have held her head under its surface. 

“Why would I want your dream?” Banal snorted. “It’s rather useless to me. You, however, there is potential.” Samahlnan put her face back in her arms. 

“I wasn’t aware spirits used women that way.” She hissed, fresh pain running through her body. 

“I am neither a spirit nor interested in your body if that is what you are implying. I do not take what a person is not willing to give in that aspect.” Banal sat beside her. Silence spread between them, nearly tangible like a thick blanket. 

“So what do you want then? I’m afraid my body is all I have to offer.” Samahlnan muttered when she couldn’t take the silence anymore. 

“You used to dance here, no? The ‘shadows’ as you called them said you were quite lovely. I merely wished to see for myself. Alas all I find is a woman wallowing rather doing anything constructive.” 

Samahlnan’s head snapped up. It was like she was slapped. “I was raped.” She hissed. Banal slowly turned his eyes to her. 

“So kill him. Cut off his balls, make him eat them, anything. It did no one any good to let such a thing as rape get the best of them. It is a deplorable act that must be met with carefully planned justice.” 

“Oh yes, I’ll get right on that once I get out of _this cell I’m in._ ” She growled. But Banal only seemed to find her anger amusing. “I was arrested for seduction when the bastard raped _me_.” The anger started to boil. The trees began to burn and crack. 

“Anger…good. Use that anger.” Banal cooed with his unsettling smile as he looked at the burning Gardens. “And what did you expect? He is the Prince, and you are just some lowly farm girl. He has to keep up the appearance of having standards does he not?” 

“That doesn’t mean he should be able to do as he pleases!” She shot to her feet and whirled around to him. 

“Then teach him otherwise.” Banal studied his claws. “Put him in his place: a grave.” 

Samahlnan looked around her. He made it sound so easy! She _was_ just a farm girl who thought she could handle herself when obviously she couldn’t. She was capable of winning a game of cards yes. But plotting regicide? There was no way. She was too stupid for that. Or too smart depending on how you looked at it. 

She could hardly make up her own mind. Her mother made all the decisions. What to wear, how to style her hair, how to act. Not Sama. She had no choice. She never had a choice. The revelation hit her in the gut. She deluded herself thinking she had any say in this, that this was her choice. But she didn’t. She didn’t have a say in coming to Arlathan just as she didn’t have a say in being bedded. 

“Didn’t your mother’s choices lead you to a cell?” Banal asked absently. Samahlnan blinked. He was of course right. “So perhaps now is a fine time to start making your own decisions.” 

“I-I…” Her world felt like it was spiraling out of control. Hurt and anger, insecurity and hatred all swirled into an indiscernible mess of emotions. “I don’t know how.” Her voice was quiet but from the laugh that bubbled out of Banal, he heard. 

“What nonsense. Of course you know how.” He stood up as graceful as any king. “It is as simple as saying yes or no.” 

Sama snorted. “Yes well the last time I said no, he didn’t listen very well.” 

“Point taken.” Banal conceded. “Then perhaps you should ask yourself what you are willing to do about it?” 

She looked at one of the trees that were on fire. Did she really want him dead? No not really. She wanted him to feel helpless, to feel fear. She wanted him to feel desecrated like her, but she didn’t want to rape him. Was there some other way? She looked back to Banal who was waiting patiently for her answer. 

“I want him to feel pain, to feel scared out of his mind, and helpless, unable to do anything.” Her voice became more a growl at the end. Banal’s smile spread. “But I don’t know how to do that short of raping him.” 

“That would not end up with the desired outcome.” He started. “However, there is another way. Though you must…be patient and wait for the perfect opportunity.” 

“Like when?” She cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll be lucky to be whipped within an inch of my life and forced into a life of prostitution or living with my father for the rest of my life.” Her stomach coiled at that. She didn’t want to live with her father again. He was worse than the prince. 

“Teach him a lesson as well then.” Banal muttered as he walked to her again. “In the meantime, I can help.” His smile was unsettling but she felt her own lips quirking up. 

“How?” 

Then Banal bowed to her, offering his hand. “Shall we dance? I can teach you things not seen in Arlathan in centuries.” 

***** 

Days passed. What little time she spent awake was to eat the stale and bland food, occasionally to be scrubbed by some maid, and to piss. Otherwise, she slept and she danced with Banal. 

He was…different. His dances were different. He taught her such scandalous dances she was sure her waking body was blushing, though they had to work up to them. She was always allowed to call it off, and occasionally she did. But he told her she’d need them, so she learned them all eventually. He showed how to channel her power safely through her body. For all of her body was magic, he said. But only a select few ever accessed their full potential. 

In truth she could feel magic pumping through her veins, but she didn’t know how to use it. It was trapped there. It allowed her heart to keep beating. It was like her breath absorbed magic in the air and gave it to her cells. Banal wouldn’t tell her how, though he smiled and said she’d figure it out. 

When they weren’t dancing, he taught her old songs. Or she brainstormed ideas of how to get revenge. None Banal said were smart. She’d be caught or they’d see her coming. But he never did tell her how to do it. It was her choice what she decided to do. He was merely there to provide an opinion on the chances of success. 

She liked him. He didn’t tell her what to do. He showed how to do it, but that was all. If she decided to follow his lead, that was her business. Suddenly she had power again. Eventually they dropped the charge of assault. Samahlnan had a suspicion Banal had something to do with it, but he was just a spirit…he couldn’t manipulate the waking world… Still she was strung up by her wrists, a heavy weight around her ankles. They branded the skin over her left hip. 

The smell of burning flesh coiled around in her lungs. Her screams echoed off the walls as she tried to free herself. Fire ran through her veins as the brand left the mark of a seducer, the mark that guaranteed her no respectable husband and no job above prostitute or serving girl. 

But they did not stop at the brand. No, they took a needle and some ink and tattooed over the blistering wound. Her blood mixed with the white ink, staining it a brilliant scarlet. And that was the color that stayed when they were finished. Her voice was again gone, tears making trails through the dirt and grime. 

Her clothes were hastily put on her before she was dragged out of the prison. 

Fresh air hit her lungs like a cold bath. She gulped it in. A hand shoved her forward. Her legs were weak and fragile as they stumbled to the ground. Her stomach hurt like hell, but she was free. Samahlnan smiled up at the overcast sky. 

She found her way back to the Hellathen’atishan. She kept to the backstreets, knowing her appearance would attract unwanted attention. 

The silence that spread over the tavern you’d think she was covered in blood and not dirt. She imagined she must have looked quite strange with her shaven head, and her dress quickly turning red from her new tattoo. 

“Lady Sama?” Nasiara’s quiet voice spoke up as she took a step forward. Her blue eyes squinted, trying to see the face beyond the grime. 

“None other.” Samahlnan managed to reply. Pain was ripping through her abdomen. Spots were dancing in her eyes. Or were they shadows? She couldn’t even tell. All she could tell were those big blue eyes lighting up as the girl ran forward to hug her. A yelp forced the girl to let go. 

“Careful, Siara.” Adren muttered as he limped up to them. “Don’t know what they did.” 

“Judging from the blood, I’d say another one got branded,” Fellan grumbled. His gray eyes held sympathy, but not pity. She was thankful for that. 

Nasiara’s hands fluttered as though trying to find some way to fix her. Sama laughed, well chuckled before hissing in pain. 

“Garas, asha. Sit.” Adren gently grabbed her by the elbow and guided her to a chair. 

“I can walk, Adren.” She grumbled. The old slayer snorted. 

“I’m not daft, asha, but you look like you are about to fall over.” 

“Siara, go get Lotus. Time to see if his years as a medic amount to anything.” Fellan pulled held out the chair and waited for her to sink into it. Her breath was coming in faster now. It hurt to breathe, every tiny movement her stomach made was like tiny needles shoving through her again. Nasiara bound up the stairs to the rooms as quick as any halla. 

“Fenedhis lasa!” She snarled. 

“Hey now, a lady shouldn’t cuss like that.” Garel half-heartedly joked coming from behind the counter with a bottle of whiskey. He poured a shot and handed it to her. “Don’t tell Siara.” Sama could have nearly kissed him as she gulped the stinging liquid down. The burn momentarily distracted her from the brand. 

“So…how have things been?” She asked through gritted teeth. 

“Oh just peachy,” Soralan snickered from his corner of the table. Samahlnan glared at him. “Hey compared to you, we’ve had it easy.” 

“He’s got a point. We only had one guard stop in the past three days.” Talaros muttered. “And from the sound of it, you aren’t in the best of shape.” 

“Understatement of the century there, hahren.” She muttered as she threw back another shot of whiskey. 

“It took some shaking, but I got him up,” Nasiara said as she trotted downstairs. The Lotusmaker basically stumbled down after her. His eyes were bloodshot, his golden curls messy and he carried the smell of alcohol. Sama immediately wrinkled her nose. 

“Are you drunk?” She asked as he blinked at her. It was like he wasn’t sure she was there. 

“No I’m hung over, there’s a difference.” He growled in his accent. 

“Lotus lost last night’s card game and had no money to pay.” Soralan chuckled. “So he had to drink whatever we put in front of him.” 

Lotus glared daggers at the Liar. “I still won. You daft bastards had to pay for all the drinks.” He spat as he wandered closer to Sama. “So what’s so important that I have come play medic ag—oh…OH.” His eyes got wide at the sight of blood soaking through Sama’s dress. 

“You were a medic?” She asked as his hands hesitated touching her. 

“Aye, is that so surprising?” He mumbled a few things to himself as he lightly touched the blood. 

“Yes, you’re a drug dealer…” She hissed. 

“Ir abelas. Aye, give your patients drugs, get them addicted, and you’re set for life. Is this fresh or did you rip it open?” 

“Fresh.” 

“Oh good, that makes it easier…just have to clean it and…make it stop bleeding…” Lotusmaker trailed off, still staring at the blood. “It’s not going to heal it, by the way…” 

“Aren’t you a mage?” Her voice was strained as he once again touched it tenderly. 

He looked up at her with those bottomless eyes, chuckling. “These aren’t like slave vallaslin. I’ve taken several of those off before. These. These are meant to be permanent; their ink has some concoction that’s similar to magebane, making it…immune to magic.” He looked around for a moment. “Can you walk or should I carry you?” 

“What?” She furrowed her eyebrows. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I would imagine you’d like some semblance of privacy…” Her suspicious glare made him hurry on “I have to clean it and bandage it. Maybe get the burn to stop bleeding. Unless you want me to just do that on the table here.” 

Samahlnan snorted, struggling to stand up. Lotusmaker waited till it was quite obvious she wasn’t going to make it up stairs before picking her up as gently as he could. For a second he thought he was a knight or some other useless and stupid thing. 

“You are lighter than I thought…” 

She cocked an eyebrow. “You thought I was fat?” 

The halla eyes he gave made her chuckle. “No…I just thought your dress would weigh more.” He was quite grateful his skin was flushed already from his hangover and picking her up. Otherwise it would have been painfully obvious he was blushing. “Nasiara come along.” He called as he began to head up the stairs. 

“What?” The young girl looked frightened of the thought as the Lotusmaker paused to looked down at her. 

“You wanted to become a medic, did you not? Good practice. Now go get my bag.” 

***** 

“Alright, Nasiara, help Lady Sama…uh…” His mind stuttered. For the love of the Dread Wolf…why is his mind mush? Oh wait…hangover and a pretty girl that could kill him…right… He shook his head to clear it. “Prepare her.” He finally got out as he laid Samahlnan on her bed. 

“Prepare her? For what?” Nasiara was literally making calf eyes as she closed the door. She sat the large black satchel on the dresser as the Lotusmaker tugged off the gloves he always wore. 

“Clear the wound, da’len. Anything on or around it must be removed and I think Lady Sama would prefer a woman helping her rather than me.” Steam rose from the washing basin at a flick of his wrist. 

“I suppose…” Nasiara slunk over to the bed as he turned his back. He occupied himself with washing his hands over and over in the near-scalding water. Sometimes he still felt the blood of all the soldiers on his hands, thick and sticky. The gloves helped. They made it so he didn’t soil or ruin everything he touched. 

“Alright…” He glanced back, seeing the angry red tattoo weeping from the corner of his eyes. His heart was beating faster than it should. How long had it been since he had an actual patient? His mind dug up old screams, writhing bodies, and that awful smell of infected wounds, of death. 

_Easy there, Lotusmaker…Sama is just getting a wound cleaned…_ He told himself as he walked to her side. Her left hip and leg were bare, with a blanket covering her modesty. He took a steadying breath. There were blisters and bubbles that had popped open and the bleeding tattoo. 

Samahlnan hissed as he wiped away some of the blood. _Something for the pain, right_ He walked to his bag and began rummaging through it. 

“No…poison, no…fun at parties, no,” He mumbled as he pulled out some vials and read their labels. “You’d think with the amount of drugs I sell, I’d have a simple…Ah here it is!” He held up a tiny vial, but then he sniffed it. It was sour. “Oh no…bad Lotus…bad…” He put it back and continued rummaging. 

“You know as much as I like freezing one leg off, could you I don’t know, hurry up?” Samahlnan grumbled, sitting up against the headboard. 

“Do you want a pain killer or not?” He pulled out a tiny red vial with a smile. He walked back over and handed it to her. “Drink up.” 

“You’re sure that’s not poison or some lotus—“ 

“It’s elfroot, non-addictive, highly restorative. Helps prevent infections and numbs pain.” He interrupted. She took it and knocked it back. It was bitter and earthy tasting. 

“So where did you learn all this?” Sama asked as he sat on the bed. 

His eyes looked to Nasiara. “Bring the wash basin over here, keep it heated.” He mumbled. His black eyes were distant as he took the rag on the basin and began ringing it. “I went to school for it. Studied alchemy and other such things. Some wounds can’t be healed, so I had to learn how to do stitches, amputations, and what have you. Dreadfully boring, but that’s what my father wanted so.” 

She hissed as the rag touched her skin. It was hot. If it were not for the hand on her stomach, she would have squirmed away. 

“That…looks like it hurts…” Nasiara gulped as the blood was washed away. 

“No it feels like rainbows.” Lotusmaker mumbled. 

The young girl narrowed her eyes at him. “No one likes a sarcastic physician.” 

“Then you came to the wrong medic.” 

Samahlnan laughed, which hurt mildly less. “So were you just a doctor in a town or…” She asked quietly. 

The Lotusmaker looked up at her for a moment. His eyes were guarded, but there was old hurt in them. Then he dropped his eyes back down to the wound. “I, uh, my brother and I, we would…” He stopped. His loud sigh brushed against her skin, cooling the fire there for a moment. “We would go to battlefields and care for the wounded. I one side, he the other. Most noble asses don’t provide medics, or expect their men to learn what took me forty years in one battle.” 

Samahlnan could guess something had happened that made him quit doing that. From the sound of it, he had loved doing it but now wished to forget it. “And now you are a drug dealer?” She quipped. 

“Of course, I have to make a living someway, no?” He threw the bloody rag back in the water. “Well good news is I can heal the burn.” 

“And the bad news?” 

“It may hurt a bit since I have to try and force what’s underneath the tattoo to heal.” He paused to look at her with a saddened smile. “Would you like a belt to bite on or we just going sound like I’m murdering you?” 

Her eyebrows flew up at that. “A belt? How bad is this going to hurt exactly?” Now her heart fluttered. She wasn’t sure if she could handle more pain. Granted the elfroot running through her veins calmed things down considerably, but still. 

“Depends on how you handle pain I guess…and how much whiskey you’ve had to drink.” He looked at Nasiara. “Why don’t you go get us a bottle of whiskey?” 

She glared. “I’m not letting you get her drunk, Ser Lotus.” 

Those black eyes rolled as he pushed a curl out of them. “Not for her. For me. I haven’t cast a healing spell in…”He made the funniest and cutest grimaces Sama had ever seen. “Now I feel old…great. Alright, don’t get tense, that makes it worse. But I’m told this isn’t as bad childbirth, so.” It was like a light died in his eyes as he looked at the tattoo. 

“Ma serannas, Lotusmaker.” Samahlnan mumbled as a blue glow surrounded one of his hands. His magic began to fill the air as he winked at her. The magic was tightly controlled, not one wisp going out of line. But it waivered, unsure as he put his hand over the mark. Their eyes met for a moment as he winced. 

Then the magic dug into her skin. It was cold compared to the numbing pain of the brand. Like Death had touched her. It clawed underneath and around the ink. She could feel the two pushing on each other in her skin. She hissed, clenching her teeth. Nasiara held down her shoulders as she tried to squirm away. 

“Don’t make me sit on you; I’ve done that to patients before, and I can do it again.” He growled, his other hand trying to keep her abdomen from moving much. She glared at him. “Breathe.” 

How could she breathe when there was some cold, electricity tearing through her skin as it tried to mend the broken cells beneath the ink? It was like having magnets inside her that would not meet. A high pitched yell ripped through her as another wave pulsed in. 

Then it receded, the magic swimming through her veins; it ghosted over her, prodding each cell for damage. The tension faded from her as it felt like her body was getting purified, massaged. It touched her healing bruises, her scabbing head, her womanhood. Samahlnan raised an eyebrow as she felt it there. It wasn’t unpleasant, but…different. 

“Making sure you didn’t…get some nasty disease from the seth’lin.” He growled the last part. 

“You…you knew?” Why did it feel like a fist hit her in the stomach? 

“Soralan managed to snatch an order detailing your arrest.” Lotus sat back, his magic leaving her at last. He rubbed his wrists like doing magic hurt him. “I did a bit of forging, and boom, the king thinks you’re dead, while the guards think you are supposed to be let loose.” He shrugged. 

Samahlnan pushed her skirt back down as she sat up. Her hands smoothed the wrinkles while she thought. She didn’t know if she should smack him or hug him. On the one hand he could be hanged for forging royal documents and he didn’t need to risk his life for hers. On the other hand, she was so grateful to be free and alive. So she settled for smacking him upside the head. 

“What was that for?” He grumbled before she wrapped her arms around his neck. She could practically hear his heart and breathing stop, feel heat rising to his face. 

“Ma serannas, daft bastard.” Then her brain caught up with his words. “Wait, the king?” 

The Lotusmaker snorted bitterly as he gave her a soft hug. “Good King Raiel passed not three days ago. Yesterday was Seris’s, his royal ass-ness, coronation.” 

Her gut twisted. But she had to be patient as Banal told her. Wait for the perfect moment to strike. If Seris was the king, then he’d be more heavily guarded. He also thought her dead…Then she smiled, a plan beginning to brew. All she needed was money. And she knew just how to get that. 

***** 

“So, my brother goes: Well at least it can’t make you any uglier!” Lotusmaker chuckled across the fire. Soralan and his wife or his sister (no one knew if he was telling the truth when he said she was his wife), Ververa, laughed loudly together. Talaros’s nephew, Nehnlin, shook his head. 

Samahlnan giggled softly to herself. They were all camping in the mouth of a small cave. Nehnlin would leave their little group at the next crossroads, but the others were accompanying her back to her home. 

After a few days rest, Garel handed her a letter that had come for her while in prison. It was from her old tutor, telling that her mother, Kamaya, had finally succumbed to illness. He said it was a mixture of heartbreak and disease as she passed not long after Sama had been arrested. She at least died in her sleep though. 

Samahlnan, of course, bawled her eyes out, heart ripping to shreds as the first person who ever protected her disappeared from her completely. She felt guilty for putting unnecessary strain on her frail mother, who only wanted her daughter to be free of the abusive ass of a father. And for not being there. 

She knew in her heart that her mother would be better off dead though. It just meant she had to contend with her father alone. Which was where her four companions came in. Garel, who she found out was in fact her mother’s brother, refused to let Sama leave unless someone went with her. Talaros was out because he had a business to run. Fellan wasn’t good with any weapon anymore and Adren’s limp would make the trip longer. Thus Soralan the Liar, the Lotusmaker, and Ververa the Quiet (that wasn’t her nickname, but Samahlnan thought she needed one and she was just so freaking quiet most of the time it was scary) joined her. Nehnlin just needed to be smuggled out of the city after bringing his uncle some ill-gotten goods. 

After a while of telling old stories, Soralan, Ververa, and Nehnlin retired to their tents. Samahlnan was too fascinated by Lotus’s odd adventures with his brother. They had apparently had once gotten kidnapped by some bandits one time and after a certain battle had to cut themselves free to heal their captors. They were promptly released after that. 

“So what ever happened to your brother?” Samahlnan asked as she pulled her fur blanket around her shoulders. Tomorrow they’d be back at her farm. She still didn’t know how she was going to get her mother’s jewels and whatnot out of the house without her father noticing…She did know that if he ever raised a hand to her again, she was going to stab him though. No more would anyone touch her without her permission. _Never again_

The Lotusmaker winced at her question. He began to play with his gloves or scratch at the bandages on his face. “We uh…” It looked like she had stabbed him with her words. 

“You don’t have to tell me.” She mumbled. A loud sigh escaped him again. He stood up and walked around the fire, looking at the stars. 

“We had set up operations near this one field where some noble house was warring with another, vying for some Creator’s favor. This had been going on for a few months before we came along. Some of the soldiers had turned to medics, but they didn’t know what they were doing. The amount of infections was horrifying. And that they still fought with insects crawling into their wounds, was astonishing.” 

Samahlnan nearly gagged at the image her mind brought up. But Lotus was far away as he turned to her. 

“We had to amputate a lot of limbs there, to prevent the infection from spreading to the rest of the body. There was this one soldier. I amputated his leg; it was turning black and I swore there were things nesting in it. There was no saving it, but I could save his life, which I did.” He sat down beside her. “When the fighting was done, we packed up shop and went home. Well that soldier followed us. He was angry that we took his leg, or something. But he stabbed my brother, thinking it was me. For all my training and all my magic, I couldn’t save my own brother. So I became the Lotusmaker.” 

Samahlnan could tell by the faint sheen in his eyes he was pained by the memory even if he was trying to sound nonchalant. Carefully she laid her hand on top of his. With her other hand she pulled down the bandage revealing a nasty burn mark that ran across his nose onto both cheeks. “Was that from the soldier?” 

“No, that was from guards. I really did have to flee my hometown.” He chuckled. “I had made some noblewoman’s uncle-five-times-removed’s son-in-law’s daughter’s cousin addicted to Dawn Lotus, and that’s all there was to that.” 

She laughed, tugging on one of his curls. “So who was the Lotusmaker before he decided to drug nobles?” 

“No one you’d want to know, Sama.” 

“Oh come on, I’ll tell you a secret if you tell me your’s.” Black eyes eyed her strangely. She tried batting her eyelashes at him. She really wanted to know, it wasn’t fair that he told her that story and expected her to not ask for his name. 

“You first, asha.” He snorted. 

Samahlnan huffed loudly, before trying to think of a secret she told no one else. Then it dawned on her as a shadow moved not far from the fire. “I see shadows.” She kept her eyes averted, watching the little thing move around the fire in awe. What was that thing? It wondered. “Not like shadow shadows, but like spirits. Like the ones in the Beyond, but I’m awake. Sometimes I can hear them too.” 

She shifted uncomfortably as the Lotusmaker sat in silence. He probably thought she was insane now. She bit her lips, trying not to yell that she wasn’t crazy. But he didn’t speak. 

“You probably think I’m crazy, huh?” She asked after what seemed to be a suffocating minute of silence. 

“Sama, I’m a physician who also deals in drugs. I’ve heard crazy before, and that wasn’t it. Crazy is seeing a pink and green striped halla flying through the sky like a Griffon, shitting lightning and pissing wine down on you while you rub your naked ass all over some rock face because you think it feels soft.” 

Samahlnan blinked many times. That image…that was just too funny. She started to laugh as the Lotusmaker shook his head. “You really heard that before?” 

“And believe it or not that’s not the craziest thing I’ve been told.” He snickered. When they both sobered, he continued. “I do believe I had studied your particular situation before. Something about the Beyond connection being too strong or too active. Or the person being too sensitive, I can’t quite recall but it is a common problem in Dreamers.” 

She furrowed her eyebrows. No one had ever called her that before. And no one had ever accused her of being normal. But somehow that made it better. It wasn’t just her then. It had a name, it had a reason. So she relaxed and turned to him. 

“Your turn.” 

He sighed exasperated. “Why do I feel like I’m playing some child’s party game?” But he leaned towards her till his lips were near her ear. And he whispered his name like it would conjure the dead if he spoke it too loud. 

“And you better not tell anyone. Ever.” He glared as she giggled. She crossed her heart with a big smile, having something that only she knew. That secret was hers as much as his. And she would guard it as though a sacred prayer. 

***** 

“You damned whore!” A large hand smacked across her face. Samahlnan let out a small cry as tears welled in her eyes. Spots danced before her eyes as she was shoved against the wall. “You killed her!” was spat in her face along with the scent of pure alcohol. 

It was getting hard to breathe as his hand clasped around her throat. She kicked and clawed as she tried to get away. But when she looked at his dead blue eyes, she was suddenly six years old again being told not to tell. 

“Stop it, please, Papae…” She whispered. Her plea was met with a fist to her cheek. Blood gushed out of her nose. She sputtered and spit as it trickled over her open mouth. With a hard shove he let go of her and staggered back a few steps. Her legs crumbled as she tried to take in as much air without blood as possible. 

“I don’t have a whore for a daughter.” The man hissed. Tears fell on her cheeks as she looked to him. As drunk as he was, she knew he could tell what he was saying. And it twisted her heart. 

She was suddenly a whore for being raped? A disgrace? When this man had stolen her innocence long before she even had such a thing as virginity to lose? Pain and anger swelled inside her. 

_Teach him a lesson as well then._ Banal’s words echoed through her mind. After all how dare this man, the man that was supposed to be her father, to protect her and love her above all else, even think of hitting her? Of calling her such names? 

She felt her magic flare as the drunk turned from her and began heading for the little compartment he kept more booze in. He also had a knife in there. She’d be damned if she let him kill her. She was not going to be his little victim anymore. 

Samahlnan hardened her heart. And in that moment she felt it. The pulse of magic against her skin. It fell over her lips, finally free of its tunnels. She touched her face. Her fingers felt the electricity dance over their tips as the hot red mess spilled over it. She could feel the tiny bonds inside her blood, bonds that held so much energy. All she had to do was reach out and take it. 

The blood began to boil over her fingertips, magic glowing around its surface. Her own magic sucked it greedily. Suddenly all of her body was hot, blood boiling as it spilled from her nose. 

She grinned as she straightened. If her blood reacted this way…She held out a hand red glowing all around her. Her magic tore into her father, gripping his blood and feeding off it. His skin rippled as its life bubbled inside. But he couldn’t scream. Through this connection, she felt his mind, the thing that made all the blood flow. And she gripped it tight. What little slack there was allowed for him to turn his head and look at her devilish grin. Fear was clear in his eyes which only made Samahlnan laugh. “I will not be a victim anymore.” 

***** 

Six years passed after she killed her father. The Lotusmaker and Soralan never did ask what happened in that house, nor did they ask about all the valuables she came back with. Those valuables bought her a nice dance costume of the most beautiful crimson color. It showed off her mark, accented her lithe figure, and had movement to it when she danced. Her hair grew back, thick and black as ever, but she kept half of it shaved as a reminder of what she endured. 

At first she stayed at the Hellathen’atishan, working and occasionally dancing. But then she was accepted into the Dancer’s Guild. She moved into one of the nicer dancing halls, and began raking in money. There were never any shortage of people who wanted to get off watching a beautiful girl dance or perhaps do a little bit more for a lot more gold (She was eternally grateful Banal showed her as many dances as he did). 

Samahlnan still would play cards with her boys, though Fellan passed into Uthenera sometime after she had gotten into the Guild. Soralan managed to win a few games, while Adren and the Lotusmaker continued losing. Talaros would always tell them they were the stupidest men in Arlathan. 

The Lotusmaker would sometimes stop in at the Hall, to check up on her. He was the only physician she’d let near enough to examine her for what he called nasty bugs. He began teaching Nasiara some tricks of the trade, Garel letting him set up an honest shop in one of the back rooms so long as no patients were drugged beyond alcohol. 

But the criminals seemed to be the only ones thriving in Arlathan. King Seris was just as bad as Prince Seris. High taxes, strict laws, horrific punishments, you name the tyrannical act you can pretty much bet Seris had it done. All to feed a luxurious lifestyle. 

There were at least three assassination attempts on his life before Samahlnan got an unexpected visitor in her rooms one evening while she was working. 

***** 

Mistress Harlan, red hair piled atop her head like a bouquet of flowers, ushered in a hooded man. He was tall, obviously rich from his fancy ass clothing, and particularly young. Not like child young, but barely old enough to be allowed in such an establishment. 

The Mistress mouthed ‘Keep him busy’ as she closed the door. The wards kicked on, turning the fire outside her room a brilliant blue to show she was occupied at the present moment as the locks clicked. 

Samahlnan, stretched luridly across her purple velvet loveseat, smiled like a cat. Her room was lit beautifully in golden lanterns that threw intricate shadows over everything. Practically a hundred pillows were in various places of the red and gold room. Silk tapestries and soft rugs littered the place with different designs resembling foliage. There was a round bed tucked into a corner behind a firescreen. But in the middle were two couches with a table that held an incense holder that was currently wafting the scent of cinnamon (along with other herbs that when combined heightened sexual arousal). 

“What can I do for you today?” She purred. Here she got to choose what she did with whom. If she didn’t want him to touch her, all she had to do was say so. If he didn’t listen, there were hired men down the hall and Mistress Harlan (who Samahlnan swore could drop a Drake with her glares). 

The man looked around uncomfortably. “I’m not quite sure you can, in truth.” He said, choosing to focus on her rather than the…’toys’ that were nearly everywhere. 

Samahlnan laughed. “Well then you are wasting your money, da’len.” 

“Are you Samahlnan?” He asked abruptly. She lost her mirth at that, narrowing her eyes. 

“Depends on who’s asking.” 

A smirk graced his mouth before he moved to take off the hood. “I don’t suppose you’d remember me.” Her eyes went wide as golden met hers. “I’m Fenrian.” It was hard to believe the young boy she met at that damn party was already a grown man. Her mouth moved to make words but it couldn’t. 

Then suspicion crept into her mind. What did he want? The king thought her dead. Was he trying to get proof she wasn’t? So that she may actually be killed? 

“Have no fear, I do not intend to reveal you before my father. In fact I wish to speak to you about him.” 

She stood up and moved to stand behind her couch. She motioned for him to sit opposite her. His eyes caught on her tattoo, lingering a bit too long on her exposed hip before he moved to the couch. The blush that crept over his face though…He wasn’t so much like his father at least. 

“And what is it that you wish to speak to me about?” She kept her voice sultry, being sure her face was neutral and her magic ready. She had practiced often with Banal in the Gardens on how to better control the blood inside another. He warned against using it often as it disconnected her from the Beyond, and could quite possibly kill her. 

Fenrian fidgeted, taking off his cloak. “Six years ago, my father is told you are dead after you were accused of assaulting and seducing him. Yet here you are.” Her snarl made him pause. The memory of the day still brought pain and hatred to her mind. “But I believe it may have been the other way around.” 

She studied him for a moment. He was trying his hardest to keep focused on her eyes, but his shifting told her the incense was doing its job. “Would you like me to dance for you, your highness?” 

His eyes got bigger, his breathing a little quicker. “I, uh, no. I just…just came to talk.” He looked away from her as she chuckled. 

“That’s such a waste for the amount you are paying. You could have just come into the tavern later and talked for free…well free plus drinks.” Slowly her hips began to sway to music only she could hear. Her belt jangled with her movements, drawing his attention back to her. “So what is it that’s you’d like to talk about exactly?” 

For a moment all he did was stare, lips slightly parted. He snapped out of it quickly, his blush deepening. “Did my father force you to lay with him?” he managed without stuttering. 

Samahlnan snorted as she began to move the rest of her body much like a tree in the wind, bending gracefully and fluidly. “He raped me yes, then claimed I assaulted him and I got this lovely little brand.” Her hand trailed seductively down her hip towards her inner thigh. She smiled at his curse. “What of it?” 

It took a moment for Fenrian to raise his head enough to speak. He was such a little virgin wasn’t he? “I figured you’d might be more…amenable to hearing my proposition than most.” 

“And what proposition would that be?” 

“The one to kill my father.” His voice was so despondent, so dead-set, that Samahlnan froze. His face was set with grave determination. It took a moment for her mind to catch up. This was it. Her opportunity… 

“Ir abelas, did you say kill your father? The King?” She had to be sure he knew what he was talking about. Inside she was feeling giddy. Finally, all the training, the preparation, the cutting all of it coming to fruition. 

“Yes. The bastard is ruining the Elvhenan, disgracing the Creators, and with the shemlen beginning to encroach, I will not leave that man on the throne to give us all to the highest bidder.” 

Samahlnan laughed. “The shemlen are little more than scavengers looting through the islands of the North.” 

“And if they decide to go further south? What then?” His golden eyes narrowed. He was obviously very passionate about his empire. Willing to commit patricide for it at the least. “I will not chance it. And you have more than enough reason to want my father dead.” 

“That I do. Question is: how do you suppose I kill him? He’s surrounded by more guards than the treasury.” As they talked Samahlnan danced closer. Now she was close enough for him to touch if he leaned forward and reached out. And close enough for her to see he was more than aroused. 

“I thought about that. I am of the age that I can choose a mistress if I so wish. I take you as my mistress, and my father would no doubt wish to…test you for himself. I’d prefer if you make it look like an accident, less hassle to cover up. Then I’m crowned King and you can do what you wish.” 

_He certainly thought this through…_ She noted. “And how do I know you won’t just pin me with the murder?” She noticed he was digging his nails into his thighs as she shook her hips. A smirk grew across her lips. 

“And how do I know you won’t just kill me too?” Fenrian fired back. “We both have to put trust in each other to keep their word.” 

She laughed and bent down, grabbing his wrists. “You are allowed to touch you know.” 

“Your Mistress told me otherwise…” His skin was blazing hot to her touch. He resisted when she tried to pull his arms up. 

“Well if your bill is a little bit more than you bargained for…That’s your problem.” Fenrian glared but finally let his arms relax enough for her to place his hands on her hips. She had to hold them there for a few shakes as he adjusted to the shock of touching her soft and somewhat sweaty skin. “Honestly, do you think your father will believe you have a mistress when you’re blushing at touching a woman’s hips?” 

“He’s…he’s the one that’s been pressuring me into getting one…” His words trailed off as his thumbs rubbed little circles over her skin. She didn’t deny it felt nice. And he didn’t even try to grab her ass or force her into his lap or anything. 

“So say I say yes, what’s in it for me?” 

“You mean aside from revenge? Whatever you wish. A royal suite, gold, jewelry.” 

She laughed, moving a bit closer so his arms weren’t so stretched. “Don’t say that, I might ask to be made Queen.” 

“I could probably pull a few strings to make that happen if you so wish.” He mumbled absently. The boy must really want his father dead…Not that she blamed him. Seris was an ass. But she thought about what she’d want in return. Banal had already promised her power, which she now had. He also told her that once she tired of all that she wanted, to find him. Such memories brought up flashes of a temple hidden in the desert and a vague urge to find it. 

“If I do kill your father, I go free and clear, the bounties on my friends’ heads are forgiven, and I’ll need supplies to go to the desert.” She said as she stopped her dance. 

He cocked a dark eyebrow. “I can do you one better. We have an eluvian that you can use. Just say the word and I’ll write to my cousin in the south and he’ll open his and provide you with all you need.” 

Samahlnan smirked as he moved to straddle him. It was quite funny to watch him begin to panic. His chest was almost like a baby halla’s as it stares down death for the first time. “I’d say you have a deal, Prince Fenrian.” Her voice spread across his face, one hand stroking him through his pants. “Now how about we get you your money’s worth and make you an honest man, hmm?” 

***** 

Within weeks, it was all arranged. Samahlnan was dressed in royal finery, covering up her blasphemous tattoo with a corseted lustrous cotton shirt that exposed much of her chest. Rather than a skirt she wore tight leggings with an over skirt of a sorts made of dragonling scales. 

And it didn’t take long for Seris to call her to his rooms one evening. She let him pin her against the wall, keeping her eyes seductive. “It comes to my attention that you may be cheating my son.” He breathed across her face. It took everything she had not to slit his throat then. 

“How so, my lord?” She managed to purr as his hands gripped her hips. 

“My son is but a child and does not know the…finer things in life…” His lips brushed against hers. Samahlnan released a small blade hidden in her sleeve. “I think I perhaps would be a better judge as to your skill.” His lips crushed hers. Vomit threatened to come up from her stomach. Pain shot up her arm. Blood welled up from the cut, magic being released from its cage. 

But she allowed him to undo her overskirt, her shirt before she bit down hard against his lip making him separate from her. “My lord, have you forgotten me so quickly?” Her eyes turned predatory as Seris took a step back. The tiny hairs over his body were standing on end. There was something dark surrounding her, something that wasn’t necessarily right. 

That was when he noticed the brand peeking through her undone shirt. His twilight colored eyes met her icy blue ones before it struck him. “You. How?” He growled. Then the blood that was trickling to the floor began to wrap around her, magic pulsating like the heart that jumped into his ears. 

“Friends in low places, your majesty.” She smiled a wicked smile. Without much of an effort, she seized control of his mind. His blood boiled inside him at the touch of her magic, but that was not how he was going to die. Oh no. Fenrian was very clear it needed to look like an accident. What better mishap than a well-done suicide? 

“Turn around.” She commanded. He had little choice but to do what she said with her magic pressing the buttons in his brain. “Now walk forward.” His movements were jerky, as he struggled against her bindings. “It isn’t so fun being forced to do something you don’t want is it?” She cooed. 

“You…damn…witch.” He managed to snarl. 

“Now that’s quite enough of that.” A wave of her hand and he was silenced. She pointed to his sword, giving the command through her ties. He wouldn’t be killed just yet; she wanted to have a bit of fun, maybe make him piss himself, before the end. 

“You should have checked to see my corpse, seth’lin.” 

***** 

“So remind me why I let you convince me searching for a lost temple in the desert was a good idea?” The Lotusmaker complained as their hallas navigated the treacherous sands. Soralan and Ververa were not too far behind. 

Samahlnan chuckled. “I didn’t force you to come with me. You could have stayed with Talaros and Adren.” Her face was covered with a large scarf that she was beginning to love even if it made her hotter than the desert. 

“Yes and leave the object of—“ Soralan began. 

“You finish that sentence and I’m throwing you into the Sulphur pits.” The Lotusmaker hissed, magic rising around him for emphasis. In truth, if Sama had not asked him to come along, he would have stayed in Arlathan. Soralan wasn’t about to let those two go off on their own without a fly on the wall so to speak and his wife followed wherever he went. Talaros had a business to run and Adren was getting too old for adventures in the sand. 

“There.” Samahlnan pointed to the ruin hiding against a mountain. 

“Right…all that stands between us and your temple thing is just a mile or so of Sulphur fields…easy…” Soralan grumbled. 

“Well that’s why I asked you two along. Got any bright ideas?” 

The Lotusmaker smirked. Of course he had an idea. He was an alchemist above all else. It wasn’t like he had four years of poison and antidote training under his belt. 

“I need five elfroots, some water, seven dragonthorns, a cactus, and some hide…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> used a prompt from putthepromptsonpaper.tumblr: Bruises bloomed over her skin, like the gardens she’d seen in her dreams.
> 
> Unlike Sulahn'mi I wanted Samahlnan to be a bit of a bad ass and a bit ruthless (she's a blood mage I mean come on). And don't worry Nehnlin's parents aren't going to be asses...it's his aunt that's an ass. But I'm going to finish Chapter 13 of OPaW and maybe start on Chapter 15 of Nothing before I get to him.
> 
> And am I the only one who ships Sama and the Lotusmaker? It's probably bad that as an author I'm shipping my own characters but there you go. And It's really weird but I've been watching Disney parodies and so I have this odd Musical Dragon Age Inquisition running through my head with these three...I'm far too musically challenge to do such a thing, but it's still going through my head.
> 
> So I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> All the Elvish language used in these are either direct from the games/books (i.e. on the Dragon Age wiki) or from Fenxshiral's Project Elvhen Lexicon. I don't really use the grammar portion of their's, just words. :)
> 
> Thank you for reading about my little babies! Kudos, bookmarks, and comments are all very appreciated!


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